Eternally Bound
by MauMaster
Summary: Alexander Lightwood was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Now he must free himself and experience life before his runs out.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Eternally Bound

**Summary:** _He was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Breaking the ties and finding the truth before his life runs out is only the beginning of his struggle. AU Malec_

**Note: **Okay, so I suppose it's only fair to warn you that this fic has dark undercurrents. I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen as of yet, as only a few things are vaguely planned and the rest to be determined before I write the next chapter, but there will be themes of abuse (mostly unshown), angst, and overall evilness. I can't share too much - you'll find out a lot in this prologue. It _is_ about Alec. Yes, an AU about Alec. It _will_ feature Magnus as a love interest. And I'm quite certain that the rest of the gang will show up.

Yes, this is multichaptered. I'm hoping I'll be able to stick to a writing schedule and, er, update (I have a bad record, so I'm sort of relying on you guys to keep me on track). Please, read, enjoy, and let me know what you think so far! Thanks in advance!

**Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does. **

* * *

_Prologue_

The dungeons were freezing and he was lonely, but neither circumstance was new to Alexander. He curled into a smaller ball and wrapped the thin blanket around his shoulders. The mattress was lumpy and hard, but he couldn't remember ever sleeping on anything else. This had been his home for almost his whole life.

A bell clanged from the upper floors, summoning him, but Alexander ignored it. It was the middle of the night. Perhaps Jonathan would believe he was asleep? He shut his eyes, willing that to be true even though he knew he wouldn't drift off easily. He rarely did.

The bell clanged again and Alexander's muscles tensed instinctively. He _had_ to go, to serve his employer, but he didn't _want_ to. He _wanted_ to stay in bed, however uncomfortable and frigid it was. Perhaps he was being a brat, but it was late, and anything Jonathan wanted could wait for the morning.

And if it couldn't… if Jonathan was maimed and dying… well, Alexander didn't think it would truly be too tragic.

The bell clanged for a third time, now accompanied by a shout. Alexander cringed. Jonathan wasn't giving up and he was going to be in for it now.

He slipped out of bed and shuddered when his feet hit the icy floor. Hurriedly, he dressed in his work clothes, as he knew that Jonathan expected him to remain professional at all hours of the day, and rushed up the stairs. He was ready to get Jonathan whatever he needed and then go back to bed as quickly as possible.

The bell clanged incessantly, but Alexander didn't mind too much now. He listened intently upon reaching the top of the stairs and followed the sound. The hallway was dim and just as cold as the dungeons. He knew he should have brought a candle, but brushed it aside. Should have, could have, would have – they all equated into _didn't_. There was no point in brooding over something he was too stupid to think of.

He heard the flames crackling in the fireplace as he turned the corner and frowned. He was quite sure he had put the fire out before retreating to his room, and Jonathan would never have made a new one himself. Alexander's blood chilled and his stomach tied into knots. It could only be one other. He hadn't sent any warning of his return, but Alexander knew he had to act as if he had.

He gulped and pushed open the heavy door. The ringing ceased when the hinges creaked and Alexander averted his gaze automatically. He shut the door gently and remained in his place silently.

"Have I taught you nothing?" the stern, cold voice he knew too well asked. "You do not leave your superiors waiting."

Alexander stared at his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. "I apologize, sir. I was… asleep. I thought I was dreaming at first."

"Liar," the tall man snapped before turning away to face the flickering fire. "What do I always say about liars, Alexander?"

"That they ought to be punished," he murmured and a surge of guilt and terror filled him.

His master sighed and tapped his foot impatiently. Alexander slowly raised his head to peek at the menacing figure that had raised him. He was standing in the middle of the parlor, wielding a stele and seraph blade that he laid on a table. Black tattoos curled on his skin before disappearing under his fine clothes. He looked angry and stressed.

That was never a good thing for Alexander.

"Fill my glass," he ordered and gestured to an empty, ornate wine glass on the table. It had been there since his last visit. Not even Jonathan dared to touch it. Alexander had cleaned it once and then let it rest. He moved instinctively towards the wine cabinet at the demand and pulled out the master's favorite red wine without having to look. Careful not to spill anything, Alexander poured the glass about halfway and presented it to him.

He took it without giving Alexander a glance and took a long sip. "How is Jonathan?"

"He is well, sir," Alexander informed him. It was no surprise that, after reprimanding him and wanting a drink, the master would inquire about his son. That was how it generally went. "His training is… it's well." He bit his lip, unsure of whether or not he wanted to share Jonathan's newest routine.

"And?" the master asked, sensing the hesitation.

"He's been working on taking down moving targets, sir. And first aid."

The master turned around suddenly and narrowed his eyes. "We haven't _got_ moving targets."

"I know, sir," Alexander said quietly and resisted the urge to scratch one of the multitudes of bandages on his body. "He is very… resourceful."

The master strode over to his armchair and settled into it comfortably. "Turn around and face me, Alexander."

Alexander obeyed without letting even a full second pass.

He could feel eyes on him, scanning and noting everything about his appearance, his posture, his inferiority. It was only preparation for the lectures. Oh, the lectures… Alexander assumed he knew them all, but then a new one would be sprung on him. He couldn't stand the lectures.

"Do you know who I am?" the master asked softly.

His tone startled Alexander more than the odd question. "Of course, sir." The master said nothing, so Alexander assumed he wanted a full answer. "You are the one that saved me from the fire that killed my family. You raised me and gave me somewhere to live. You take care of me, sir." This was only the beginning of the master's resume as far as Alexander was concerned, but he was stopped by a simple hand gesture.

"No, no. You _are_ aware of my name, are you not?"

"Yes, sir." Alexander paused. He had never been permitted to call the master by his name before. "Valentine Morgenstern."

He flinched when Valentine stood with a hand raised, but didn't feel the sharp pain across his cheek. Instead, he rested his hand on Alexander's shoulder in an almost gentle way.

"That is correct. Now, who are you?"

"Alexander Lightwood," he murmured. "Son of Mayrse and Robert Lightwood, who died when I was three."

"And?" Valentine prompted.

"And forever grateful for your kindness," Alexander finished. "I'm loyal to you, sir." It wasn't as if he had a choice. Alexander had been outside only once in his memory, and he had never met a human being besides the two Morgensterns he served. He had nobody else to turn to.

"Good." He sounded satisfied. "Now, are you aware of what day it is?"

Alexander glanced at the clock. It was after midnight. It had just been Monday, so that meant… "Tuesday, sir?"

"I meant something besides the day of the week, boy."

Alexander struggled for a moment, vaguely on edge from the pressure of Valentine's hand on him. "I don't know, sir," he finally confessed. He looked up, expecting to meet an angry face.

"It is your eighteenth birthday," he said. "You are officially an adult, Alexander."

Alexander felt like he had just been punched in the stomach. _Eighteen?_ But… it couldn't be… How could he not have realized his birthday approaching? He didn't celebrate, ever, but he liked to acknowledge the achievement of surviving another year in close quarters with Jonathan.

"My… birthday?" he echoed dumbly.

"Yes, your birthday." Valentine sighed and stepped away, as if he were reminiscent. "You've grown quite a bit since I first took you in. And furthermore, you've been molded perfectly. Better than I had expected."

Alexander shifted his weight from one foot to another. If by molded perfectly he meant obedient, he supposed Valentine was right.

"So, I have an offer for you. Think of it as… a present, of sorts. You may ask me any three questions you please. I will answer them to the best of my abilities, I swear by the Angel." Valentine smiled encouragingly.

Any three questions… Seven million things popped into Alexander's head, but at the same time, he was unable to catch even one. "Sir, I… I don't know what to say," he said in shock.

"You could use your manners and thank me for my generosity," Valentine suggested offhandedly as he returned to his seat.

"T-thank you, sir." Alexander took a deep breath and tried to draw on the courage he knew was buried somewhere inside him. "Sir, could you perhaps tell me… What were my parents like? I-if you know, of course."

Valentine was silent for a long while and Alexander wondered if perhaps he hadn't been honest when he said any question would go. Still, he didn't move, waiting.

"Your father was cruel," Valentine finally spoke. "You are aware of my ultimate mission, are you not?"

Alexander nodded. There was no way he couldn't know. Valentine was trying to rid the world of Downworlders and demons, repopulate with Nephilim, and simply save their failing society.

"He was utterly for the cause originally, but when we began our true work, he faltered. He went soft towards the monsters and harsh towards his own kind. Sometimes I wondered if he was a Shadowhunter at all and not from some demonic background. He abandoned me, after I had relied on him so heavily, and turned on his former friends. There were several disappearances over the next few weeks, many of which I suspect were linked to him. Your mother… she was much the same. Quieter, very cold, emotionless, narrow minded woman. I hadn't met a mother with less love for her child until you were born." He emptied his wine glass as he pondered his own words. "I suppose it was a double blessing for you when they died. Not only were you saved from their harsh ways, but I was able to take you in and ensure that their short influence did no lasting damage."

Alexander stared at the burning logs. During Valentine's explanation, his body had gone numb, bit by bit. First his hands, then his arms, until finally, even his pumping, pounding, aching heart didn't feel. "It was a blessing," he whispered, unbelieving but knowing that was what Valentine wanted to hear.

He shook his head. "Alexander, I understand that it is hard to hear. The truth often is. But please, I urge you not to dwell on the matter. They were not worth mourning when they died, nor are they worth mourning now."

Alexander had always mourned for the family he knew absolutely nothing about. He had been trained not to care, taught that grief was weak, but he knew he was never strong. So he cried in private, in his room when Jonathan was fast asleep and Valentine was away. He had countless fantasies of his family, of older siblings he never knew, of how they watched him lovingly from Heaven. Surely, he thought, they hated how he was treated here. Surely they wished they could strike out and kill Valentine and Jonathan on the spot. But even angels had their limitations, so that was why he was stuck in this horrible life.

He never considered that they were the ones he should have feared.

"Alexander, do you wish to ask me anything else tonight?" Valentine asked. Alexander jumped, effectively drawn out of his state.

"No, sir," he said. It was already difficult enough to breathe.

"Very well. You may save them for a later date." Valentine reached for the long discarded stele and twirled it in his fingers expertly. "Come closer, Alexander."

He took short, uneasy steps until he reached the chair and bowed his head.

"You are now an adult," Valentine said, echoing his earlier statement. It still felt unreal to Alexander. He hadn't even known it was his birthday. "Though you have not been trained, I must remember that you were born Nephilim and remain so. Every Nephilim deserves at least one rune. Extend your wrists to me."

Alexander bit the inside of his cheek and held his arms out. They shook slightly and Valentine held his fists to steady them.

Alexander almost cried out when the stele touched his skin. The metal burned as it traced black marks around his wrists in a strange, unfamiliar design. White pain blinded him. When it subsided, he opened his eyes to find himself on his knees, nearly bowing down to the man who stood with a smug grin.

Alexander examined the Marks carefully. He didn't know many runes – he could barely read anything, let alone the angels' language – but these were entirely new to him. Jonathan didn't have them, for sure. They looped around his wrists, identical, and tingled unpleasantly. A nagging part of his brain told him they looked like manacles, but he had to push that thought away before he panicked.

"What do the runes mean, sir?"

Valentine stepped away and around him, pacing the room. Alexander remained on the floor, as he did not have permission to stand yet.

"In a few months, I will retrieve my daughter, my wife, and the Mortal Cup. I am not a fool. I know that I may fail. And should I fail, there may be repercussions. Serious repercussions. Regardless of the outcome, they will investigate, they will search. This manor is said to be abandoned. You know, of course, that is not true. And so will they, should they look for me here." Valentine laughed. "Of course, I won't be here. And neither will Jonathan. We can't risk it. You, on the other hand, will stay and keep house for when we return. I don't have the patience, the time, or the need to bring you along and I'm confident that you will be able to take care of yourself."

"Of course, sir," Alexander said, though there had not been a sign to respond. He was confused about what this had to do with the runes.

Valentine poured himself another glass of wine and, after a slight pause, as if considering, took another glass out of the cabinet. He filled it halfway and then poured a small vial of clear liquid inside. He handed it to Alexander. "Drink this," he commanded. "It has a potion. I'm not oblivious to my son's tendencies. This will help with your wounds."

Alexander slowly brought the cool glass to his lips and sipped at the wine, inwardly grateful. Jonathan was good with bandages, but it didn't stop the cuts from throbbing and splitting days after he received them. He'd drunk before, but only a few scarce times with much cheaper alcohol than this. Valentine watched him intently until the glass was empty, and then drained his own.

"As you will be remaining here, you will likely be found during their investigation. I do not want to risk my secrets being spilled by an idiot servant boy." The usual sneer in Valentine's voice was suddenly back as he insulted the status he had taught Alexander to fill. "Those runes are binding runes. I don't care if you say you are loyal to me. Those runes will ensure it. You cannot disobey a Morgenstern."

Alexander's heart sunk and he felt as his lungs constricting. He had never heard of binding runes, but he didn't doubt they would work. Runes always did. He felt his numbness fall away completely as reality broke the icy wall. He was bound, he was subservient forever. He was never going to have the freedom he wished for every day.

Valentine continued speaking. "You are not allowed to give _anybody_ information on Jonathan and I. Not on our skills, not on our habits, not on our whereabouts – I promise you, if you disobey, the runes will punish you for me." He bent down and Alexander choked on the alcohol scented breath. Valentine gathered him by the collar and held him half off the ground. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Alexander said, but it came out in a near sob. Valentine wrinkled his nose and threw the boy to the ground in disgust.

"Go to bed. I don't want to see your pitiful existence until you're serving breakfast, seven o'clock sharp."

"Yes, sir," Alexander said and scrambled to his feet. He tried to hold back the stinging wetness in his eyes as he stumbled out of the room. _Binding runes_. He was bound. He had always been a prisoner, but only in the physical sense. The only times he ever felt so trapped before was in a dark room with a locked door and Jonathan. And that – that was a memory he was trying to suppress.

"Alexander!" Valentine yelled once he was already running at top speed down the hall, unable to contain the hot, salty tears from leaving trails on his cheeks. "Stop!"

He brought himself to a sudden halt, unwilling to learn what happened when the runes took effect, and tried to hide the shuddering of his shoulders.

"I thought you might want to know that the potion really does." Valentine's voice echoed in the corridor. "In a year, I won't need you any longer. So, over the next year, the poison will begin its work. If you're lucky, you'll live until your nineteenth birthday." There was a slight pause as Alexander's stomach flopped and he frantically tried to shove his finger down his throat in an attempt to force himself to eject the substance. "And don't even attempt vomiting." Alexander didn't stop, still gagging and trying to force his stomach to empty. "Of course, if you truly wish to test the rune, proceed. I'll be able to watch the punishment and then we can go for another dose. I have several, if needed."

Alexander dropped his hand in defeat as the order was given and felt his entire body shaking. He dropped to the ground, his legs unable to support him any longer, and choked on every breath of air he tried to take. It was as if his body were trying to kill him early.

"Goodnight, Alexander," Valentine said as he passed him. "Get to bed soon. You'll need your strength for the coming months."

For the first time, Alexander wished it had been Jonathan clanging the bell in the dead of the night.

* * *

_End Note: _All right, be honest with me - how weird was it to read "Alexander" the whole time? He'll eventually transition into being called Alec, but right now he's Alexander. I'll admit, I kept slipping up and writing Alec. Anyhow, this idea bloomed while chatting with a friend about Alec, about how different his life might have been if his parents hadn't survived the Uprising. There were several possibilities, but the one that struck me was the idea that afterwards, Alec might have been sent to live with his parents' friend, Michael Wayland - who was being impersonated by Valentine. I took a little while to decide which house Alec would be raised in, and then just sort of let it flow. It evolved into this and, well, I hope it turns out okay.

Please review and give me some feedback! It would be the most encouraging thing in the world and might let me get a chapter out before midterms! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter One

**Title:** Eternally Bound

**Summary:** _He was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Breaking the ties and finding the truth before his life runs out is only the beginning of his struggle. AU Malec_

**Note: **Whoa! I'm honestly in awe of the reception this fic got! I'm working on review replies to all, so if you haven't gotten one yet, don't fret. I've been working on planning out the plot and am currently up to Chapter Four. I promise, the next chapter is a lot happier than this and the previous. Thank you to all who reviewed! (I am honestly a little bit scared, especially while posting this chapter... As an Alec fangirl myself, I know we can be a quite vicious community when our darling is in trouble). Your reviews really inspired me and kicked my butt into writing this immediately. And boy... If I had known that a dark!AU like this would have gotten such a good reception earlier, I would have written one of my other ideas! But alas, perhaps those will wait for after this fic (If I even have fans after all the hell these characters are going to go through). If it makes you feel better, it has to get worse before it gets better - and this chapter shows some of the worst I have planned. Getting it over with! I fhope you guys don't kill me for this one...

Edit: I had a tense crisis, many missing words, and a few wrong words that I'm just fixing up here. Sorry if you get an update. Next chapter following soon.

_**Warning: This chapter contains mild language, heavily implied abuse (physical and otherwise), and underage drinking. **_

**Disclaimer: I do not own MI. And thankfully, I'm quite sure.**

* * *

_Chapter One_

Alexander shifted food around his plate, only half alert. His appetite had shrunk drastically within the last few weeks and at the moment, even the smell of seasoned chicken drizzled with sauce was making him nauseas.

He had the sneaking suspicion that it was connected to the poison he could feel creeping through his veins. For a good five days after Valentine issued the drink, his temperature had raged. He burned up, yet shivered in a cold sweat that he simply learned to work through. Now he couldn't eat. But it didn't matter, because Alexander never took a day off from work. How could he when he was serving Jonathan?

"Alexander! Get me a glass of wine!" Jonathan ordered from the dining room.

Alexander pushed his chair away from the rickety kitchen table and limped towards the elaborate dining area. He had twisted his knee during Jonathan's morning training session and the pain was just beginning to subside.

"Sir," he said apologetically. "Your father told me that you're not to drink." Jonathan twisted in his chair to give an icy glare. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just get me a damn glass of wine." Judging by the still heaping pile of food on his plate, he had eaten around the same amount as Alexander. "That's an _order_. You're _bound_ to it."

A shudder went up Alexander's back at the reminder. He looked down at his unfading runes sorrowfully. "The elder Morgenstern's orders override yours, Jonathan," he said quietly. "I can't do anything about it."

Jonathan stared for a long while, calculating. Alexander's knee throbbed and he leaned against the doorframe for support.

"Get me the wine, then. And a glass. I can pour it myself."

Alexander took a sharp breath and waited for some sort of agony to hit him. Nothing happened. "I'm sorry, sir," he said and exhaled slowly. Pure relief. "It seems your father's ban extends to even that."

Jonathan clenched his jaw and pushed himself away from the table. "I'll get it myself, then."

Alexander ran forward, even though each step sent a new tearing feeling through his leg. "Sir, you're not allowed," he said and attempted to block the boy's path to the wine cabinet. Jonathan was taller than him, and stronger, but Alexander was fast despite his lame leg. He could intercept him agilely on an average day, and, on days like this, at least keep him away from the alcohol until Jonathan tired of the fight.

Alexander was secretly never happier for an order. He hated when Jonathan drank even more than he hated giving in to their demands. The stink of liquor, the crueler shove and push of hands, the slurred orders that Alexander knew he had to obey… They were the essence of so many nightmares that he was only just becoming immune to.

Jonathan reached forward and grasped a handful of hair. He yanked roughly to the side and Alexander gasped in shock. His hands flew to his scalp as his leg gave way and he fell to the ground.

"You'll follow my goddamn orders," Jonathan growled and stepped over him.

A flash of concern crossed Alexander's mind. If Jonathan had already made his way into the liquor, before dinner, when Alexander was busy… There was little way to reason with the boy. And there was even less way to get himself out of trouble.

"Jonathan, you're not allowed!" Alexander pushed himself onto his elbows and rubbed at his head. A blurry memory surfaced at the worst time, as they always did. Toddlers, playing on the rug in front of the fire, tugging hair and laughing until someone cried. Except when that happened, only Jonathan smiled at his companion's misfortune.

Alexander always knew there was something off about the boy.

But this wasn't the time to dwell. Jonathan had turned on his heel to glare with a fiery intensity that nearly had Alexander backing away. "You don't tell me what to do," he said. "You're the servant here."

Alexander glared back. "I'm actually a _slave, _Jonathan, if you want to get technical about it," he spat. "But that doesn't change the fact that your father told you that you're _not allowed to drink!_ By the Angel, what is _wrong_ with you?"

Jonathan's nose wrinkled just slightly. "Nothing is wrong with me. I just want a drink with my dinner. It's the only way I'll be able to enjoy this… whatever it is you made."

Alexander knew he didn't have extraordinary skill in the kitchen, so he let this comment slide. "Your father wants you sober, with a clear head, when he fetches you. That could be any day, any minute, so calm the hell down before we're both in trouble!"

Jonathan took a deep breath, than another. Alexander could almost see the cogs working in his head, counting to ten like he'd been taught whenever his temper went out of control.

"That was idiotic of us both," Jonathan finally said. The tension lied heavily between the boys and Alexander decided not to point out that _he_ hadn't done anything stupid except get in the way of a temper tantrum.

"It was," he said instead. "I'm sorry."

Jonathan's lips went thin and he took a step forward. "Get up," he said and extended a hand in what would seem like a peace offering to any other. Alexander knew better. He stood on his own, clutching onto a nearby chair for help.

"Crap," he muttered when fresh pain jolted through all parts of his leg and now his back. "I think I'm bruised all over now."

Jonathan didn't appear remorseful, but he reached out again in a way Alexander couldn't avoid. He wrapped his hand around Alexander's wrist – it almost reached all the way around with his lost weight– and pulled him through the halls into the parlor without a word.

Alexander's hands felt clammy as Jonathan rummaged through the drawers for one of the first aid kits.

"You were limping before," Jonathan commented with his back turned. "What happened?"

Alexander shrugged. "I fell wrong during training this morning," he responded truthfully, then remembered that they weren't fighting any longer. This was work. "Sir."

Jonathan snorted and plopped down on the couch where he had deposited Alexander. "You don't have to call me sir right now," he said and reached for Alec's pant leg. "You know how this goes."

He did. Chills went up Alexander's spine, but he said nothing. Jonathan pulled the fabric over the swollen, red knee roughly and he cringed.

"This looks bad," he said gleefully, prodding and poking at the inflamed skin with cold fingers. "Wonder how long it'll take to heal. Straighten it out for a minute." Alexander did so and bit his tongue to stop the slight cry. "Huh. Cool." Alexander swore this sadistic fascination with a broken body was the only reason Jonathan invested time in medicine.

Alexander allowed Jonathan to wrap the injury with his callused fingers and tried to hide the way his fist tightened, dreading each brush of skin.

"Now," Jonathan murmured when done and tugged up the hem of Alexander's shirt an inch. Alexander recoiled instantly. "Let me see the bruises on your back." He laid his hand flat on the bare skin and Alexander couldn't hold back an outright shudder. Jonathan eyes glinted as he moved closer. "Or we can just make new ones," he whispered and leaned in, his heavy weight pressing Alexander into the couch cushions against his will.

"Jonathan? Alexander?"

Jonathan sat up at lightening speed and rose to his feet. "Father!" he greeted enthusiastically with a grin that was too wide to be genuine. "You're home!"

Alexander sat up and fought the red blush he could feel creeping up his cheeks. He smoothed his shirt out, still breathing shallowly, trying to keep in mind that he had moved, he wasn't on top of him, oh god, he wasn't anywhere near him now, thank the Angel.

"Yes, I am," Valentine said quietly as he strode in front of the boys. "Have I… missed something?" His stare bounced back and forth quizzically, waiting for an explanation to the scene he witnessed.

"Oh, Father, it was nothing," Jonathan lied smoothly. Alexander made to stand, but Jonathan put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down again. "You shouldn't stand right now," he said before turned his winning smile back towards his father. "Alexander hurt his leg this morning. I was just taking a look at it. You know how I like fixing up injuries."

Valentine raised his eyebrows skeptically, but didn't comment. "Are you well otherwise, Alexander?"

Alexander thought of his turning stomach. "Yes, sir," he lied nearly as skillfully as Jonathan.

"What?" Jonathan said in a tone that only meant menace. "Alexander, why you – Oh, God." He laughed emptily. "Father, don't listen to him. He likes to put on this ridiculous front. He can barely hold down a meal. He spends more time bent over the toilet than actually eating. I wonder if it's something I'll be able to fix." He said this with an air of pure innocence. Alexander went numb at the thought of Jonathan poking and prodding and shoving more poisons down his throat for his own satisfaction.

"No need," Valentine said simply. "Jonathan, I'd like to speak to you about our next step. Your mother has been recovered and it's only a matter of time before your sister joins us for a whole family." He smiled, satisfied.

Jonathan frowned deeply. "What about the other one?"

Alexander gnawed at the inside of his cheek. He didn't know much about the Other One – he liked to capitalize it in his head – but whenever he came up, things ended badly. Alexander knew the topic was going to come up eventually – it was no wonder that Jonathan had been acting more erratic than average since his father's last visit.

It didn't mean he liked it.

"That will be taken care of quite easily." Valentine shrugged. "I have, on good word from my source, that our little Clarissa has fallen for… what do they call him there? Oh. _Jace_. And the feeling is mutual. All it will take is a quick reveal of their familial relations. It will break him, and he'll either be a useful tool or completely out of the picture."

"Sir," Alexander said hesitantly as he listened from his spot of the couch. "They _aren't_ related." At Valentine's withering stare, he added, "Are they?"

Jonathan was the one who responded. "Of course not. But he _thinks_ that Father is his father." Alexander detected a trace of scorn in his voice. "So it'll be no trouble convincing him it's true." He turned back towards Valentine. "Wonderful plan, Father," he praised. "How can I help?"

"I'll tell you in just a moment," Valentine said. "Alexander, go up to Jonathan's room and pack him his things."

Alexander rose, this time uninhibited by Jonathan, and nodded. "Yes, sir," he murmured and hobbled towards the door.

"And Alexander?" Valentine called when he was nearly out of the room.

"Yes, sir?"

There was a short pause as Valentine chose his words. "Don't forget the most important order of all – nothing is revealed."

"Yes, sir." Alexander's palms sweat and he rubbed the inky manacle of his right wrist with his thumb.

"Leave."

He hurried away as fast as his leg would let him.

* * *

Jonathan's room didn't take long to pack. He had few more belongings than Alexander, who refolded each piece of clothing carefully before placing it in the suitcase. In little time, it was full and snapped shut.

With a sigh, Alexander settled onto the floor and stared at the ceiling. It wouldn't be long until they left and then…

What?

He supposed he would have to stay, as he'd been ordered. Keep house, though they'd never return. Wait until someone came to investigate. But when would that happen? How long would it take? What if the house ran out of food? What if his life just ran out ahead of schedule?

Valentine had told him he had a year, if he was lucky. Alexander pressed a hand against the front of his shirt gently, feeling the ridge of his ribs through the thin fabric. He didn't feel lucky at all.

He shook his head. It was foolish to obsess over these things. He had to focus on _now_, on living through the next _hour_, let alone the next days.

He heard loud footsteps on the stairs and forced himself to his feet, even as his knee throbbed. On autopilot, his mind still racing, Alexander stood tall, clasped his hands behind his back, and took a deep breath.

_3… 2… 1…_ he thought, too accustomed to Jonathan's habits to stop himself. The door slammed open on schedule and the angry boy made a beeline towards him.

"Damn angel boy," Jonathan growled, kicking off his shoes so they landed under the bed. "Damn _perfect_ son, just plain _faultless_, so that I have to pretend I'm not even _alive_." His eyes seemed blacker than ever and Alexander felt his heart clench nervously.

"Sir?" he said hesitantly. "I… Your things are ready."

"I don't give a shit," Jonathan sneered and snatched a knife from the dresser. He threw it in one fluid motion, his wrist and fingers flicking out deftly. Alexander flinched, but it wedged itself in the wall on the other side of the room. "That… hate… he…" Most of Jonathan's words were inaudible mutterings.

"Sir, you're going to have to leave soon," Alexander said, hoping that maybe they'd leave before his rage boiled over, maybe they'd be gone before Jonathan chose a place to direct it.

Jonathan sucked in a deep breath through his nose and settled his gaze on Alexander. His tense muscles seemed to relax immediately. Alexander's, on the other hand, tightened.

"You're right," Jonathan said in a much calmer voice. He seemed nearly pleasant, if not for a predatory tone lacing his words. He stepped closer. "We are leaving soon. Alexander… I don't believe we've been apart since we were young, have we?"

Alexander swallowed thickly, but his throat was already closing up. "N-no, sir."

Jonathan abruptly grabbed Alexander by the waist and pulled him into an awkward embrace. "Why don't you make this a proper farewell, then?" he suggested in a low voice. His hot breath hit Alexander's face and he coughed, twisting away.

"No," he said firmly, trying to rip the boy away. Not now, not when he was so close to being rid of him, not when he'd avoided it for so many months, not when the nightmares were finally fading…

Jonathan only held on tighter. "That was an _order_."

Alexander pushed against his chest helplessly. Jonathan was strong, too strong for a normal being. "_No_," he said again.

"I _said_ that was an _order!_"

Burning hot liquid poured through Alexander's body, rendering him fully incapable of even moving. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, his blood boiled, his head felt like it was splitting. He wrapped a hand around his middle as he collapsed to the ground as if it would contain his disjointed limbs.

_The rune_. He gasped, unable to bear it. "M-make it st-stop," he begged. "T-take it b-back." He felt his cheeks were wet, but didn't quite register the fact.

"It'll stop when you fulfill the order," Jonathan said simply and moved close. His rough palm cupped Alexander's chin and forced him to look up, even in his unseeing white blindness. "Just give in. You can't win."

With one great heave, Alexander went limp. The pain dissipated as if it'd never been present, but he could still feel the tingling in his skin, a clear warning.

Jonathan came down on him and he shut his eyes tight.

He knew the end of the nightmares was too good to be true.

* * *

Imogen Herondale knew the Morgenstern mansion better than she cared to admit.

She strode down the halls and searched for even one discrepancy from what she remembered. A moved picture, a changed rug, anything could be a hint. The ghost of her past followed her, as it always did, but now was the time to be professional.

She shut out the surfacing memories of young boys laughing and running roguishly while their mothers smiled fondly and tried to make them settle down for a meal. Stephen had never been an independent soul, always eager to follow the other children's ideas rather than make his own. Imogen saw little harm in this until these children became deadly.

She wished she had taught her son to think for himself, but even so, knew it would have been impossible for him to escape his childhood friend's enticing lure.

Imogen found nothing too extraordinary in the admittedly small area she had assigned herself, and so returned to the parlor. They had set up their headquarters in the once warm and cozy room where she once drank tea and chatted with other women. Now she was writing papers and filing an investigation.

Too many years had gone by.

"Inquisitor!" One of the younger Shadowhunters – Imogen couldn't recall his name, he was a new recruit to her team – greeted her outside the door. "Have you found anything?"

She shook her head once, but the youth's eagerness didn't fade. "Well, that's a shame, but guess what?"

Imogen raised her eyebrows and waited patiently for him to continue. She rarely participated in these childish word games the new generation seemed to be raised on.

"We found a _person_."

"A person?" Imogen repeated in slight shock. For some reason, she had expected him to tell her that he was receiving a puppy or the like. Judging from his tone, he probably felt like he had.

"Yeah, a person. I found him in one of the bedrooms. He was just laying there on the floor. Dunno how long he was there, he won't talk. The only time he opened his mouth was when we came in here. He vomited in the garbage can."

Imogen wrinkled her nose. "How old is he?"

The boy shrugged. "We figure he's in his teens. Not Valentine, obviously. Say, didn't he have a son? Maybe that's him."

"Valentine's son is dead," Imogen said emptily. _Just like my own._ Regardless, she made note of the possibility. She reached for the knob and turned it swiftly.

"No, ma'am, I can't let you through," the boy said and shut the door after it had opened just an inch. "He seemed to go into shock when he saw one of our female fighters. We think he's never seen a woman before. 'Course, we can't be sure, but I guess it's a good inference. We don't want to scare him too badly."

Imogen narrowed her eyes. "If he's frightened, maybe he'll talk. We can't waste time making him _comfortable_ when there is a murderer on the loose and he may know something!"

The boy took a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am," he said and sighed. "You're right. Just… don't hurt him, okay? I tried to help him up and he cringed. I think he's been abused."

"Well, if he's been living with Valentine that can't be a surprise!" Imogen pushed past the boy gently and opened the door again. Sometimes she wondered about the intelligence of that generation. "Where is the boy?"

The Shadowhunters in the room halted their work to turn to her. The room was dead silent, save for a small pop of logs in the fire that hadn't been there before.

"He's over here, boss," one of the men said and waved her attention over.

Imogen's eyes snapped to the corner where he stood. Beside him, a boy a little shorter than average stood with his hands cuffed in front of his body in glowing rings. He had his head bent low and dark strands of hair blocked his eyes.

"Who started the fire?" she asked and flanked around the room at all the men. They shifted uncomfortably until one pointed to the boy.

"He was shivering like crazy when we brought him in here," he said. "He asked if he could make a fire, and well, we couldn't let the kid freeze. Plus it convinced us we wasn't mute."

"His skin is just starting to thaw out now," said the fighter in the corner with him. He had a hand resting on the back of the boy's neck, but it didn't look harsh. Simply protective. Imogen remembered that he was a father with a son not too much older than the boy appeared to be. Parental instincts… Somehow, it seemed to be a trait she lacked.

Imogen set her jaw and nodded. "Very well. What else have we found?"

A Shadowhunter lounging on the sofa shuffled through papers. "There were three bedrooms that looked recently occupied. Two upstairs – one of them is where we found the boy – and then one in the dungeons. Either the kid sleeps in a different one each night or there were other people here. All other evidence leads to that. There was some food in the kitchen, too. More than for just one person."

Imogen frowned and crossed the room. The boy's eyes remained trained on his scuffed, worn shoes but she saw his chest move more rapidly as she approached.

"Tobias!" she yelled, finally remembering the youth's name. The boy entered the room anxiously and she summoned him forward.

"Yeah, boss?" he asked and smiled warmly towards the mysterious boy.

"How did you find him, again?"

"Oh, well," Tobias said, thinking. "We split up on the second floor and I was going down the hall I was assigned, opening all the doors. Most of the rooms looked abandoned, but he was on the floor in that one. The bed was all messed up, like someone had just slept in it, but," he shrugged, "He was on the ground. That's it, really." He paused, as if trying to recall more clearly. "Oh, there was some blood, too! And he had a lot of trouble standing up. He walks funny, I think something is wrong with his leg." He looked towards the boy quizzically. "Did I get all that right? Did I miss something?"

The only change in the boy was a red blush that flushed his pale cheeks.

Imogen eyed the black haired boy and took in his appearance more critically. His clothes were made of thin fabric and had a few small holes, nearly hidden. They clung to him loosely. His hair didn't hang much longer than his eyes, but it was chopped unevenly, as if he had done it himself. She noted a purple bruise on his cheek and a matching one on his neck, disappearing under his collar. She had a suspicion that, should they do a full examination, there would be many matching ones.

He didn't _look_ like a Morgenstern, that was for certain. She recalled old descriptions of her husband's ancestors and supposed, if anything, the boy looked like a Herondale – though she was fairly certain they had no relation.

Underneath the glowing cuffs, she saw blackened skin. With Tobias's warning in mind only reiterated by the injuries, she squinted at it but didn't touch. Swirling runes she didn't recognize encircled his wrists, almost obscured by dark, long bruises in the shapes of fingers.

"How did you receive your injuries?" she asked sharply. The boy bit his lip but didn't answer. "Do you know where Valentine Morgenstern is?" He bit down harder but remained utterly silent. Imogen felt her patience failing. "What is he up to? What is your business here?" The boy's lip split and a drop of blood trickled down his chin. "Do you know who I am? By order of the Clave, I demand you give me some answers!"

"Inquisitor," Tobias interrupted. "Calm down, you're scaring him!"

The boy was trembling slightly. He lifted his linked wrists to wipe away the red trail dripping from his lip.

"I don't know if he _can_ answer those questions," Tobias murmured, as if he was thinking aloud. "Why don't we ask him something simple? Hey, kid, do you have a name?"

Imogen was about to chide Tobias for intruding on her job without permission when the black haired boy lifted his head. He had brilliant blue eyes that were void of any spark, whether it be hopeful or angry or in spite.

He nodded twice, slow, agonizing nods that were so imperceptible that Imogen thought perhaps she imagined them.

"Well? What is it?" she pressed.

In a cracked, timid voice, the boy spoke. "Alexander Lightwood."

This certainly changed things.

* * *

_End Note: _Huh. Random OC that popped in there. Tobias hasn't worked himself into my outline in any way, shape, or form, but I suppose his appearance as I wrote this chapter means he will. I don't know much about the kid, so I guess I'll have to just take it and go with it. Honestly a bit nervous for this OC appearance, not a huge fan of writing them myself, but... Well, I needed someone to talk.

Imogen is actually going to be rather important in this fic, leading the case with Valentine and all. I dearly hope none of you were as traumatized as I while reading the Jonathan scenes... I didn't _want_ to do it, but it just... it seemed logical to me. Jonathan does things for the pleasure of frightening and hurting others. I imagine his actions frighten and hurt Alec, so... well, he gets double enjoyment. And before I'm referred to a certain piece of dialogue in CoG, I don't think he's actually homophobic. I think he knew how to get under Alec's skin and used it to his advantage. In reality, I'm sure Jonathan doesn't give a crap who Alec likes and/or sleeps with.

Review, please :) I hate to beg, but you've all spoiled me! And as I realize this is becoming a very long note, so in conclusion...

_Next chapter: Alexander struggles with the effects of the slow-acting poison in the Gard while readers get a glimpse into the New York Institute and the drama that all roots in family._


	3. Chapter Two

**Title:** Eternally Bound

**Summary:** _He was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Breaking the ties and finding the truth before his life runs out is only the beginning of his struggle. AU Malec_

**Note: **Hiya, people! Are you still reading this? Really? After what happened to Alexander last chapter? Wow. I'm surprised I'm not dead yet. I have gotten some scary reviews, though, so... I'll remind you that if I'm dead, Alec can't be saved. (My persuasion skills need some brushing up on). Anyway, I'm astounded by the response I got for the last chapter and hope you guys like this one even more. I'm currently up to Chapter Five in the planning process, and we've got a bumpy road ahead of us. Enjoy! Things are looking up!

**_Another Note: Yeah, I know I messed up a little with ages and birthdays. Cassandra Clare made a Twitter post a little bit after I posted the prologue telling me the exact ages of all the kids and when Alec turned eighteen. And I placed it in the completely wrong place. So. We're going to twist some things and assume Valentine lied about others. Thanks :)_**

**Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does.**

* * *

_Chapter Two_

Valentine always preached that Shadowhunters were the most angelic beings in the world. Alexander didn't doubt this was true. Angel blood certainly gave them that boost towards the heavens.

However, this led him to question what "angelic" really meant.

It was hours until anyone had allowed him to sit and his knee was certainly worse for wear. The Shadowhunters scoured the house again and again, paying no respect to any part of the fine home. Rugs were thrown aside and locked doors knocked right off their hinges in an attempt to find clues towards the missing man.

Alexander remained silent after giving his name, but the relentless questioning continued. He honestly wasn't sure what he was permitted to tell. The agonizing sensation of burning blood was an experience he wanted to desperately avoid. Tobias, at the very least, tried to buffer the harshness of the woman he called the Inquisitor, but there was little he could do. Alexander didn't blame him. After all, it was a dangerous thing to disobey your employer.

It didn't take long to figure out what they thought of him. He was obviously under arrest – not so sheltered as to not recognize what the handcuffs meant – and under suspicion of aiding Valentine in stealing the Mortal Cup. Alexander wished he actually knew what the Mortal Cup was so he could deny the accusation.

All in all, it wasn't what he had imagined as his rescue from hell.

Nor was his venture to the outside world.

Alexander had lived his life with only short bursts of fresh air from cracked open windows. The front door was locked from the outside, effectively keeping both boys in their prison. Alexander vaguely recalled the feeling of soft grass and wide open skies with enough room to fly. He had long ago given up his hopes of ever visiting his fantasies for real.

The reality wasn't as pleasant as he'd hoped. Tobias had to all but drag him across the threshold. He was paralyzed by the space, the muggy summer air he'd never actually breathed in. The sky was cloudless and pure, but Alexander wanted to simply turn back and hide in his safe, familiar confines.

However, the carriage was only a few yards from the door and Tobias ushered Alexander into the seats, holding onto his shoulder with a light touch.

"It's all right," Tobias had said when the carriage started its wobbly journey away from the mansion and Alexander felt a panic attack coming on. "We're not going to let you get hurt. We're taking you somewhere safe. You're free from there now."

Alexander had given him a shaky, still silent smile and turned away from the window.

Safe was clearly a relative term to Tobias. Alexander laid on his cot, reminiscent of his bed in the dungeons, and sucked in a deep breath of dank prison air. They had called the edifice the Gard when they arrived, and promptly escorted him down to the dungeons. He had a small window of bars high on one wall and a miniscule bathroom that actually looked bigger than his one at home. Bars blocked him in.

As long as he was alone, Alexander could relax. He was content. He _was_ safe.

But now others intruded in his space, hollering their demands and questions again. Alexander felt trapped as a mouse in a cage. He couldn't think, he could barely register what was happening. It was all too sudden. He wasn't _used _to people, and he decided that he didn't think he really liked them all that much.

The light haired boy Alexander had become fond of so quickly pushed through the swarming crowd of seven or eight and raised his voice above all the others. "All right, everybody step back seven steps!" Nobody listened and just came at Alexander more urgently. Alexander sank back against the wall and hugged his knees to his chest as he huddled on the mattress.

"You _all_ need to give him some space!" Tobias kept his stance and hollered at the others. "I swear, if you don't step back, I'll get the Inquisitor to kick you out and we'll do the questioning alone!"

Alexander's skin crawled at the thought of the woman. She had given him dirty, somewhat disbelieving looks that he simply couldn't comprehend. One second she looked nearly happy. The next, she looked like she wanted to squash him under her boot.

The other black clad Shadowhunters retreated immediately, much to Alexander's relief.

"Now," Tobias said pleasantly to the serious men. "We're going to do this humanely, not screaming like he's some monster. Because he's not. His name is Alexander and he is a person who has obviously been through a lot of shit."

"Carstairs, who do you think you are?" one of the men spat. "You're two years younger than Anthony's littlest."

"You haven't got the right to be telling us what to do," another added, likely Anthony.

Tobias crossed his arms casually. "Alexander, would you rather me asking you questions or them?"

Alexander frowned. He'd never been given an option to anything before. He glanced at the fierce Shadowhunters backed against the bars to his cell. They were all different sizes, shapes, and colors, but the image sharply reminded him of Jonathan. Their confident stances and thick gear with sharp weapons hanging from their belts all looked the same. He averted his eyes and shrugged noncommittally.

"The truth, please, Alexander." Tobias was patient, but urging. "If you'd rather talk to them, that's fine."

Alexander hesitated before shaking his head. "I'd like to speak with you, sir," he murmured. If the cell hadn't already fallen deadly silent, his words would have been lost. "If… if you don't mind, sir."

Tobias grinned crookedly. "'Course not. The only thing I mind is being called sir. Is that all right with you?"

Alexander shut his eyes and choked on nothing. He didn't mean to, he didn't want to have that sort of reaction to what the boy said. But the only time Jonathan ever permitted formalities to drop were in anger and lust. He knew he was oblivious to much of life, because he just knew the world wasn't as he was raised, but there was no way to escape the thought that Tobias meant the same as the Morgenstern.

"Or you could call me sir," he added in a rush. "If you want. That's fine. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Sir is fine. Can I start the questions?"

Alexander nodded.

"All right, good. The rest of you, pay attention. Someone is keeping a record, right? Oh, and if you want to ask something, tell me first."

Alexander didn't look at the men again, but could feel their disconcerting stares at both Tobias and himself.

Tobias turned around to face him. He stood tall, but not authoritatively. Though he also wore the thick, dark gear, his uniform was wrinkled and the sleeves were pushed up casually. "Alexander, I know you can't tell me much, but try to answer my questions as fully as you can. For the record, can you state your name?"

"Alexander Lightwood," he said as clearly as he could. As far as he knew, records needed to be accurate and he didn't want to mess it up, just in case they got angry. His voice cracked and he felt his palms break into a cold sweat until it was clear no punishment would be inflicted. It seemed information on himself was allowed.

"Do you have a middle name?" Tobias pressed.

Alexander shrugged. "Not that I know of, sir."

Tobias nodded to one of the Shadowhunters, who was scribbling rapidly on a paper. "Alexander, I need to record your fingerprints. Do you know how to do that?"

Alexander bit his lip and stared at his palms. If he squinted hard, he could see the little lines that marked him as an individual. He shook his head.

"That's all right," Tobias said and ushered the recorder forward. He laid out a pad of black ink on the bed and a clipboard of paper. "We need this for the file and to make sure you are who you say you are," he explained. "We've had some impersonations lately, and I don't think you're lying, but you might, you know, not _know _that you're not telling the truth. Here, spread out your fingers."

Tobias guided Alexander through the process of inking his hands and carefully staining the paper. He handed him a wet towel when he was done.

"Thank you, sir," Alexander murmured and wiped off the black tarnish.

Tobias looked down at him in a patronizing way and Alexander couldn't help wincing. He knew what pity was, though Valentine wasn't fond of it. Pity was directed to the weak.

Alexander knew that's what he was.

"Okay, so those were the easy questions," Tobias said. "I need to ask some difficult ones. Are you ready?" He didn't wait long for a response. Carefully, he asked, "What do those runes on your wrists do?"

Alexander immediately tensed. He traced the design nervously, scratching his nail against the skin. He _couldn't_ tell, but he wanted to, so badly. He just didn't know, couldn't know, what would happen if he disobeyed an order and couldn't take it back.

Fear tingled at the back of his mind. It could mean never ending pain, that flash of torture never ceasing. It would kill him, for sure. A body couldn't withstand the pressure. He was positive of that.

"Alexander, _please_ tell us," Tobias pleaded. "I can't help you if I don't know what it _does_."

Alexander looked towards the other Shadowhunters again. Several were now holding knives that gleamed in the dim prison witchlight. He thought of Valentine's unyielding order that none shall be revealed. There was no way for him to win. "They'll kill me." He wasn't sure which enemy he was speaking of, just that he was terrified.

"I won't let them," Tobias said. Alexander knew he was referring to Valentine and Jonathan. Tobias had no reason to fear his colleagues. Tobias must have sensed his hesitation, because he firmly said, "I won't let _anyone _hurt you, Alexander. I promise."

Alexander gazed into the boy's eyes and frowned. They were wide and missing something that Alexander couldn't quite put a finger on. At the same time, they seemed like a locked door, blocking everything but this emotion Alexander had only experienced second hand. He trusted it, for some incomprehensible reason.

He now outlined the dark, bruised finger shaped bruises and looked away.

"Alexander," Tobias began to prompt again, but he cut him off.

"They're binding." Tobias snapped his jaw shut and Alexander couldn't meet his eyes. "Binding runes, Valentine said. They make me… loyal to the Morgensterns. I… I haven't got a choice but to obey them." Alexander's voice was monotonic and factual until the whispers began and glares intensified. He pleaded desperately. "I can't tell you more. I'm bound to them. I have to do what they say and I can't give any information on them. I… I _really _wish I could, sir."

"The boy is a soldier for Valentine!" one of the men accused. An uproar followed and Alexander buried his head in his arms. He heard Tobias's shouts join the others. He yelled to stay back, shielding Alexander from what he was sure were murderous intentions.

They didn't quiet, but Tobias turned and grasped Alexander's wrist. He cringed, but Tobias paid little attention now. "Are you sure that the runes work? That he wasn't lying?" he asked in a low voice.

Alexander felt a cold dread fill his stomach more completely than any actual substance had in days. The unspeakable anguish followed by unwanted hands he couldn't even report surfaced to the forefront of his memory and he shivered. "It works," he mumbled into his arms. "If I don't obey, they torture me."

Tobias's grip tightened not enough to hurt, but enough to make Alexander pull away anxiously. "Does 'they' mean Valentine and his army? Or –"

"The runes," Alexander said quickly. He'd never even met the so-called army that Jonathan claimed was strengthening. "It must be them. He – he didn't even touch me and – and I don't think he could have hurt me _that_ much _that _suddenly. It… it was torture." His voice broke off and he trembled. "Please don't kill me," he begged. He hadn't yet looked, but he wouldn't have been surprised if the knives were still aimed. "I don't – he never – I'm not trained, I'm not a soldier, he doesn't need me anymore, please don't –"

"We're not going to kill you," Tobias said quietly. "Put away your weapons, all of you." There was a pause and Alexander peeked up from his huddle. Not a man moved. "Now!" The metallic scrape of knives entering their sheaths sent goose bumps up Alexander's back, but he was overall relieved. "Alexander, we're going to try and get rid of those runes, and at the very least, those orders you're held under. I know it was hard to tell us, and probably very scary, but we can help now. Thank you."

Alexander curled into his ball tighter, still waiting for consequences to hit him. Tobias walked over to the man with the papers and whispered for a few moments.

"Alexander?" Tobias returned to his side and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "I just have one more question. Do you know what happened to your family?"

Alexander lifted his head a few inches. "They're dead, sir. Since I was three. They died in a fire. I… I saw it. And Valentine told me about it."

Tobias raised his eyebrow and sat down on the edge of the lumpy cot. "Alexander, I'm assuming that Valentine lied," he said slowly, each word more enunciated than usual. "Because the only recorded Lightwood death in the last fifteen years… Kid, that was you."

* * *

Sometimes, Isabelle Lightwood thought that life would be simpler if nobody had a family.

It wasn't that she didn't love her brothers and parents. Max was still innocent and Isabelle took pride in being his role model. Secretly, she wanted to take pride in corrupting that innocence as well, but Jace seemed to have that under control. Her parents were loving, if somewhat absent and workaholics. And Jace, as a foster brother, was annoying, aggravating, arrogant, and obnoxious, but made great company and always did the right thing when it mattered.

But sometimes, the connections were just a little too much.

Being the oldest could be a pain, even if Jace was born three months before she was. It didn't matter – she had been there first, so she was the eldest. She had to set a good example for her brothers and pick up the slack when their parents were too busy for anything more than a kiss on the forehead.

It also meant she had to live as the replacement, trying to fill the void the _real_ oldest Lightwood should have occupied.

Isabelle didn't know much about her brother Alec. Her parents told her vaguely of the baby boy's demise in Idris, around the time of the Uprising. They had evidently clashed with Valentine Morgenstern and he had gotten his revenge. One night, when the Lightwoods were attending a party in the city, he snatched the boy who had drifted off in a corner and brought him back to the Lightwood manor. By the time anyone had realized the normally quiet child was missing, the house had been up in flames. The few salvaged, charred edged photographs that were saved were the only remainder of Alec's short life.

Except, apparently, that wasn't so.

Isabelle had never felt so confused.

Valentine just seemed to be screwing up her entire life, and she hadn't even met him. First his daughter barged into a demon hunt and almost cost them the kill. Then Jace developed this insane urge to protect her – something, Isabelle noted, wasn't necessarily a bad thing for the womanizing boy – and _brought her home_. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard Mom scream so loudly. A mundie! In the Institute! Sure, she wasn't an actual mundie, but they didn't know that at the time.

And then – after he fell _so hard_ for her! – then they found out that Jace wasn't who he thought he was, and they were _siblings_.

It was just insane.

To be fair to Clary, the poor girl hadn't had any more clue than they had. She was even oblivious to her own parentage until Dad and Hodge dug out the old history about the Circle and Jocelyn Morgenstern. Plus, thanks to Clary's mind-blockage, Isabelle had gotten into a pretty awesome party and acquainted herself with a decently attractive mundane that simply fawned over her. She wasn't going to complain about _that_, even if the fool managed to get himself turned into a rat.

And okay, fine, maybe it was partially her fault. But in the end, everything had worked out! Except she was pretty sure their short relationship was over.

Getting the guy changed into a rodent and abducted by vampires tended to do that, no matter how good that make out sessions were.

So, now her parabatai was moping about his unintentional incest and the unfortunate luck of being fathered by Valentine while she went through the motions of a hysterical probable break up alone. At one point, they had combined their pity fests and stash of junk food.

The teenage angst was literally radiating from the Institute. It was only a matter of time before the popular bitchy girls at school spread rumors about her, or something like that. Isn't that what happened in all the movies? She brushed aside the fact that none of the girls at the local schools even knew her.

When the phone rang, Isabelle had been watching Titanic for what Jace claimed to be the fifty billionth time, but was really only the third that week. She and Max, who had joined her curiously about thirty minutes in, hadn't thought anything of it. It was probably just normal business from Idris, checking up on the New York Institute. They had been calling a lot since Jace Wayland learned he was actually Jace Morgenstern. Isabelle was past a little annoyed by it.

So, instead of focusing on the phone call, Isabelle had directed all her attention to the TV. She couldn't help but feel bad for Rose. She lost her man, too, and _she _hadn't even transformed him into a rat.

Isabelle was avoiding Max's awkward questions by stuffing popcorn in her mouth ("Izzy, what are they doing in the car? And how'd it get all steamy? And why did she put her hand on the window?") when Mom had entered the room with red rimmed eyes.

It didn't take long to find out what was going on once Max was sent from the room. And, after Isabelle got over the shock of learning her dead brother was alive, it wasn't even that hard to believe.

After all, Valentine seemed out to screw with everything she knew.

Now they were going to Idris to retrieve this little brother. Sure, she knew he was actually older, but she had grown up with the familiar baby pictures that immortalized him as a toddler. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't configure the smiling chubby face on a teenager.

"Isabelle, what does Alec look like?" Max asked while she helped him fold clothes for his suitcase. By the time Max was born, Mom and Dad had mostly let go of their grief. They decided to wait until he was older to let the ghost of the past haunt him. He had been told the bare minimum of the story after the call and now wanted to know everything.

"I don't know, Max," Isabelle said and threw a few pairs of socks and underwear into the suitcase. "I've never met him. And Max, you don't need ten books for a few days in Idris." She removed a few and piled them on the night table.

Max pouted and threw them back in. "I read fast. And you've seen pictures. What _did _he look like?"

Isabelle sighed. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail while recalling the photo in her room. "He had black hair, like ours. Big blue eyes. He was a cute baby. Happy, I guess. That's really all there is to it."

Max was quiet, pondering. Isabelle took the opportunity to take out the extra books and shove them under a pillow. He didn't even notice.

"Izzy, Jace and Clary's dad took him, right? And he's bad, right?"

Isabelle bit her tongue. Max had been told little, but was unusually skilled at putting the pieces together. In addition, she had personally trained him in the art of eavesdropping. "It really depends on how you look at it," she said carefully. "And yes, Valentine took Alec."

Max nodded. "Do you think he's a really good Shadowhunter like Jace? Cuz they both lived with him?"

"Maybe," Isabelle said, but actually completely unsure.

"Do you think he'll be _better _than Jace?" Max asked, but it was clear he didn't think it was a possible feat.

"Of course not." Jace leaned against the doorframe with two suitcases dragging on the floor behind him. He smirked readily, but Isabelle could tell that it didn't have the same confidence that it did before he learned the truth about his father. "Nobody is better than me."

Isabelle rolled her eyes and zipped Max's suitcase for him. "You're so arrogant."

Jace looked thoughtful. "I don't think I am… It shouldn't be called arrogance when you are indeed better than everyone else. I'd call it semi-harsh truthfulness."

Isabelle smiled at her parabatai even though she wanted to glare. Jace had a way of making everything he said sound _right_, even when it wasn't. She made a note to not let him near her brother until she was suitably convinced that he wasn't gullible.

That grin, apparently, had been Jace's goal. "Glad that made you laugh," he said even though she hadn't made a sound. Despite his stoic expression, she knew that he meant it. "Are you over the mundie yet? He really wasn't that much of a catch, in my opinion."

Isabelle's grin fell immediately. "How's Clary doing?" she asked in retort.

Jace's face twisted as if he were fighting millions of emotions until it settled on none. "She's fine. She's coming with us, actually."

"Really?" Isabelle hadn't known that. She tugged the suitcase off the bed and handed it off to Max. "Honey, go take this down the elevator. We've got to go soon, I just want to finish talking to Jace about… older kid stuff."

Max gave her the stink eye at her last statement, but stalked off and Isabelle heard the _ding_ of the elevator a moment later.

Isabelle plopped onto Max's bed and mussed up the covers. "Why is she coming?"

Jace fiddled with the ring on his finger. "They wanted the Morgenstern children. That's us, isn't it?" He shrugged. "She'll be here in a few minutes. She texted me."

The elevator dinged again and Isabelle got up from her comfy spot regrettably. "That must be her," she said and tried to give Jace an encouraging smile. It didn't work. She flicked off the lights. "I need to get my stuff, I'll be right – "

"I got it," Jace said and Isabelle looked down at the suitcases he was dragging. He was telling the truth – one actually was hers, and he even grabbed her purse for her.

She took it and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Aw, thanks. You _do_ have a heart!"

"Are you sure?"

Isabelle twirled around to face the speaker and laughed. "Well, maybe not a _full_ heart, but you haven't got one either."

Magnus Bane laughed in response and ran a hand through his glittering sparks. "Your parents would have to disagree based on the discounted prices I'm giving for this Portal. You're lucky I like you, Isabelle, this is a pain of a job." He glanced at Jace. "Carrot Top is downstairs with the rat boy if you're interested in saying hello."

Jace stiffened. "I can wait."

Magnus lifted an eyebrow but said nothing before turning back to Isabelle. "What is this I hear about the undead brother?"

Isabelle sighed and waved her hand. "Long story short, Valentine likes to abduct small children and fake their deaths. But we already knew that." She gestured towards Jace, who seemed to pretending to not hear. "Exhibit A."

Magnus nodded. "Ah. I see." He smiled wistfully and took Isabelle's suitcase. She let him take it without any argument. "Here, let me take this. You're having a rough week."

Jace snorted. "_She's_ having a rough week? What about me? My week's sucked even worse."

Magnus's lips curled into a sultry smile. "Babe, I thought we were keeping that whole thing on the down low. And come on, don't be so hard on yourself." He winked at Isabelle with a sparkling eyelid. "You don't suck _that_ bad."

Isabelle couldn't contain a giggle as Jace sighed and shook his head in dismay. She even detected a faint blush – and that took some skill to bring out. Even though her friendship with Magnus consisted solely of crashing a party and throwing up in his bathroom, she liked him. He seemed to know just what to say or do to make her feel better.

Even if it was at Jace's expense.

"Let's go. The Portal will only take a few minutes to set up." Magnus turned in his knee high boots and made his way towards to still open elevator. He paused halfway down the hall to pet the cat, who didn't seem fond of the colorful warlock. "Are you two coming?"

Isabelle took a deep breath and nodded, hurrying past him.

Her brother was waiting.

* * *

**End Note: **How's that for a happier chapter? Reveal of the runes, the Lightwoods, Jace, and Magnus! Props to _Martyr_, an anonymous reviewer, who contemplated the idea of Valentine being a stinking liar about the Lightwoods. You were right! I'll admit, I'm a bit nervous about Izzy's POV, since I've never really done it before, but hopefully tht came out decent. More concerning to me is this appearance of Tobias Carstairs (Yes, I'm a bit of a hopeful thinker, if you've read CA. I may be incorporating a few not-really-spoilery bits of CA due to that last name, but overall, I'm keeping away from it). I don't like to write OCs. But Tobias... He barged in last chapter and now has a firm place in the future story. He's an interesting one, I think... What do you guys think of Alec's first friend?

Trivia: Anybody catch another CA reference in the previous chapter? Go to where Imogen is observing Alec. She says that he looks more like a distant Herondale ancestor, or something of the like, than a Morgenstern. She would be referring to Will.

Thanks for reading and please review! Next chapter: Alexander is still starving to what would be a premature-premature death and the Lightwood siblings run into conflict when Isabelle considers the possibility that Jace was aware of her long-lost brother.


	4. Chapter Three

**Title:** Eternally Bound

**Summary:** _Under construction - The summary is going through a quick revamping, should be prepared by the next chapter. Don't be alarmed if it's not the same as you remember it. I wasn't crazy about it._

**Note: **Hello! I'm terribly sorry for the delay - School got in the way. From now on, I think updates are going to be once a week. I'm continuously planning and writing, but my schoolwork is a priority and midterms are stretched over the next two weeks. I'm in a lot of time-consuming classes, but I will try to get chapters out as often as possible. To make it up to you, this chapter is longer than the others :)

Thank you to _all_ my reviewers, especially the anonymous ones I couldn't thank privately! I'm absolutely shocked by the response this fic has gotten. Thank you so much!

**Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does.**

* * *

_Chapter Three_

Alexander was beginning to forget what food tasted like.

He had never had gourmet quality food, but he was never outright neglected as far as meals went. He had been sent to his room without dinner few times in his life, and even then usually received something to snack on. Valentine was under the belief that a healthy body was crucial to an obedient servant and a good slap or two would be a more effective punishment than starvation. And Jonathan preferred it when he was fully fed and not trying to blink away the spinning room.

Even as a child, before he could cook himself, he had always been provided with something to eat. Alexander didn't actually remember the servant well. They had been gone – mysteriously disappeared – by the time he was eight and could make basic meals. As time went on and Jonathan got more demanding, Alexander had turned his reading practice from the assigned books to cook books. It was a good thing Valentine stopped paying attention to his education when he was twelve, because Alexander was certain he'd be punished for going against his demands.

Alexander liked the kitchen. He didn't even mind cleaning it. Jonathan hadn't stepped foot in the room since he was ten and declared that cooking and baking was woman's work. Alexander didn't even know how he supposed this, since neither had actually _met _a woman, but he guessed it was in one of the books he read.

Either way, Jonathan never seemed to complain when Alexander cooked. When Alexander made dinner or, in a moment of boredom and rare free time, a cake or batch of cookies, it was almost like when he was younger. He had a fierce sweet tooth and was always under the feet of the blurry memory of a caretaker. He and Jonathan, not yet trained to hate one another, had flour fights and snuck cookie dough from the bowl.

Alexander couldn't help but miss those days.

Then, as he got older and his stomach was always empty, food became more of a necessity than a pleasure. Alexander could barely recall a moment when he _wasn't_ in the kitchen once he and Jonathan were in their early teens. Valentine had been dismayed, if not a little amused, to see how empty the cabinets were when he came to visit. Ever since, he had arranged for more food to be brought for them.

There were a lot of things Alexander didn't know about his life, he realized. For example, where the food came from. All he knew was that every Tuesday morning, the house would be stocked again. He knew it had to come from _somewhere_. He just hadn't a clue _where_.

And now, his family. He didn't know that he had a family. Or rather, that the family was alive. It seemed like a dream come true, a fantasy almost too surreal to believe. His mother and father were _here_, waiting to see him. He had a brother. He had a sister. Hell, Tobias had said two of each! Alexander shifted the food around his plate, chanting the names in his head. Isabelle, Clary, Jace, and Max. Four siblings.

Tobias had stayed with him all night, just talking. Alexander didn't understand how a person was capable of talking that much, but Tobias achieved it. His presence itself had been another miracle. He'd never had a friend, not in the way a friend was supposed to be. Jonathan had once called himself a friend, but… Alexander shuddered. He didn't want to go down that train of thought.

The doors creaked familiarly and Alexander's head snapped up in alarm as a black clad figure entered the dim cell. His knuckles turned white around his fork and he sucked in a nervous breath.

A quiet laugh eased his panic. "Didn't mean to startle you," Tobias said and, with his hands in what even Alexander recognized as surrender, approached the bed. He sat down without invitation, something that he had foregone around dinner the night before. "How are you feeling?"

Alexander speared a piece of pasta on his plate. "All right, sir. Thank you for asking."

He sensed Tobias's lips press together, but didn't look. He knew that Tobias wasn't fond of his formal address, but it was a habit too hard to break. Plus, Tobias didn't seem like he was going to punish him for it any time soon.

"How are the runes?"

Alexander dropped the fork without taking the bite and rubbed his wrists as if he could wipe away the tattoos. "Still binding, sir," he said softly.

Tobias sighed. "Right. Didn't think they'd fade, but… well, I was hoping." He glanced sideways at the meal on Alexander's tray. "You enjoying that?"

Alexander shrugged. If he were to be honest, he hadn't eaten anything. His stomach turned every time he brought a morsel near his mouth. In fact, he couldn't remember what he'd eaten last. Perhaps a few bites of chicken that night? Surely he dragged himself out of Jonathan's room long enough to grab a roll or two during that impossibly long day and night of waiting. But he wasn't certain and the only taste he could clearly describe at the moment was vomit.

Tobias sighed again. He seemed to do that a lot in Alexander's presence. "Can I ask you something?" he said after a long pause.

Alexander frowned. Tobias usually didn't wait to ask. He just accepted it when Alexander didn't answer. "Yes, sir."

Tobias's shoulders slumped, as if he were about to ask the hardest question in the world. Alexander panicked internally. What if he wanted to know more about Valentine? What if he wanted to incriminate him? What if he was going to try to force him to disobey orders?

"Are you going to eat that roll? I've been working since you fell asleep last night. I'm starved."

Alexander felt like he'd been smacked out of his thoughts as he stared at Tobias dumbly. The roll on his tray was stale and untouched. "Uh, y-yes, sir. I-I mean no, sir. I'm not. You can have it."

Tobias raised his eyebrows and Alexander realized that he had purple bags under his eyes. "Are you lying?"

Alexander picked up the roll and held it out to the blonde. "Liars ought to be punished," he said simply. "I can't eat anything, sir, so it's useless for me to keep this all to myself."

"All," Tobias snorted and took the roll. He tore it in half and dropped the larger piece back on the tray. "That's barely anything, Alexander. You got half a bowl of pasta, some bread, and a block of cheese." He bit into his bread and chewed silently for a moment. "Liars ought to be punished…" he echoed thoughtfully once he swallowed. "Where did you learn that?"

Alexander took a rattling breath and turned his attention back to the meal.

"Ah," Tobias said. "Valentine. Hm. You know, I never thought a man like him would go for morals like that. 'Course, my uncle was the same way with lying and stuff and he wasn't exactly a deity."

Alexander looked at Tobias curiously. If there was anything he had learned from simply listening to the boy, it was that the way he had lived his life was not normal. Alexander had always assumed so, but he wasn't sure whether to be reassured or upset that he was right. On one hand, it meant that he didn't deserve this, just as Tobias had been preaching for hours. On the other, it meant that he was even more of a freak to a society he had never encountered.

"Sir, please pardon me for asking, but…" Alexander looked at Tobias closely, searching for things he knew too well on his own body. "But, sir, was your uncle…" He wasn't sure how to word it and trailed off. He traced a scar on his cheek from when Valentine taught him not to play with knives.

Tobias seemed to understand. "No," he said quickly. "No, definitely not. Not to me, at least. Maybe my cousins, but they never said or showed signs, so… I don't know. But I don't think so. He did drink often, though. An alcoholic. I don't even remember him being sober, and he said some nasty stuff about people. He talked about violence, sometimes, but…" Tobias shrugged. "He could barely aim the glass to his mouth."

Alexander felt dumb for asking and a red heat rose to his cheeks. "What's an… alcoholic, sir?"

Tobias looked amused for such a somber question. "Someone addicted to alcohol," he answered simply. "From the looks of the liquor cabinet in your house, Valentine was one, too. Damn, a drunken man leading an army to kill us all…" He laughed emptily. "I'm not sure if that's scary or hilarious to imagine."

Alexander didn't feel that tug at the edge of his lips that urged him to smile. "I wasn't aware that he drank so much," he said quietly, wondering vaguely if he was crossing the runes' boundaries. "That was more –" He cut himself off before he could continue. He shouldn't have started in the first place. Mentioning Jonathan's mere existence was _definitely_ against the rules. Valentine had never specified, of course, but Alexander inferred that Jonathan was meant to stay a secret.

"That was more who?" Tobias pressed, leaning forward with wide, expectant eyes.

Alexander's breath caught in his throat. "Me," he lied. "Not… not often, sir, just… it helped." He swallowed back bile as he thought of the last time he drank.

Tobias nodded and leaned back. "Perhaps not all liars should face consequences," he murmured. His eyes were locked on Alexander's runes. "We're going to do our best to get rid of those. I promise. The Silent Brothers will work on it. They said they would. And then you can tell as much – or as little – as you want."

Alexander clenched his jaw and felt his head throb. He didn't like the Silent Brothers one bit. They had visited briefly to poke and prod just like all the others, but he hadn't had a clue what was going on. Tobias later relayed the events to him, but it still made Alexander uncomfortable. Apparently, they had been ordered to keep out of his mind at all costs. Even unintentionally disobeying might bring the torture.

"You need to eat," Tobias said suddenly and took the fork from Alexander's grasp. He filled it with a mouthful worth of pasta and offered it out. "Take it and eat it, or I'll make airplane sounds and feed you myself. I can see your skeleton."

Alexander took the fork, but didn't place it near his mouth. "What are airplane noises, sir?"

Tobias reddened. "Oh, sorry. I have a niece, she's really little, and we always have to do that little game where you make train noises and airplane noises to make her eat."

This didn't clear up anything in Alexander's mind. "Sir, I don't know what those are. Trains and airplanes, I mean."

Tobias looked stricken. "Right. Um. Forms of transportation. An airplane… flies… in the air. Self explanatory, that part. And trains, they're these… they're like… they're on railroads and they're a lot faster than cars most of the time."

Alexander took a breath, but said nothing and waited for Tobias to catch on that he was still clueless.

It took almost a full minute. "You don't know what a car is, do you?"

"No, sir."

"I'll show you a picture later," Tobias said and laughed. "Does that work?"

Alexander nodded, still lost but appreciative of his efforts. "I'm not really hungry, sir." He set his fork down hesitantly. He wasn't sure if he trusted Tobias not to snatch it up and force feed him as promised. "I don't feel well."

Tobias narrowed his eyes. "I haven't seen you swallow even three bites of food since you got here. Is this one of Valentine's orders? Because if it is, I swear, that man is one of the sickest human beings to walk this earth."

Alexander shook his head rapidly. "Not an order, no sir, I just – I don't think I'll be able to hold it down, sir." He thought back to when Tobias had herded him into the parlor and he had lost his stomach in the garbage. "You remember, sir."

Tobias took what seemed to be the billionth deep breath since Alexander had met him. "There _must _be a reason for that," he said firmly. "I just… I wish I knew what it was. Alexander, if you know –"

"I –" Alexander began, but the creaking of the door cut him off.

"Carstairs, I thought you were assigned to guard duty," a sharp voice chided.

Alexander watched Tobias slide off the bed and take a stiff, tall stance. It was a complete transformation and didn't even take seconds. "I am, boss," he said and saluted the gray haired woman at the door.

Alexander didn't like the Inquisitor any more than he had when they first met. She had only been in the cell a few times and never for more than five minutes, but she had a coldness that Alexander couldn't understand. It wasn't cold like Jonathan or Valentine. It was more drastic, as if she had once been happy and now her mission was to make sure no one was. Even Tobias didn't seem fond, and he'd been friendly to nearly everyone as long as they didn't crowd the cell or threaten Alexander harm.

"This doesn't seem like guard duty," the Inquisitor reprimanded. "This looks like socializing."

Tobias glanced down at Alexander, who had frozen at the sight of the woman. "We were – talking," he faltered. "About… the runes. And why he feels so ill. I just – it's not a bad thing to help him."

"I'll take over from here," the Inquisitor announced. Her face was drawn tightly and sternly. "That was not your job, Carstairs."

"I know, ma'am, I –"

She raised her eyebrows and Tobias fell silent. Alexander met his eye quickly but then averted his gaze. This didn't feel like it was going to end well for either of them.

"I'll step aside, boss." Tobias nodded and retreated to the opposite side of the cell. Alexander watched him go, the comfort of his friend rapidly slipping away.

The Inquisitor walked closer and her shoes clacked with every step. Alexander stared at them, wondering how she could walk when there were sticks in her heels. Did they poke through the shoe? Did it hurt? He bit down on his tongue quickly to stop himself from asking. Only Tobias tolerated those sorts of inane things.

"Look at me, boy," she ordered and Alexander snapped his neck up. He swallowed thickly in anticipation. "Look me in the eye." Suddenly, a long nailed, firm hand was cupped under his chin and jerked his head so he had to meet her cold, uncaring gaze. His entire body flinched and flailed, but he brought it under control as quickly as he could. She didn't relent.

"Inquisitor, you're scaring him," Tobias said and Alexander saw him step forward out of the corner of his eye.

The Inquisitor put a hand up without a word and Tobias stepped back meekly. "Sorry, boss, just… don't hurt him. 'Cause –"

"He's been through hell and back, I know," the Inquisitor intoned. "Carstairs, I really don't know who trained you, nor do I suggest you tell me. They ought to have instilled better respect for superior positions."

Alexander felt himself leaning away, unable to help it. The Inquisitor held him there with an incredibly strong grip. "Stop moving, boy, you'll maim yourself further."

"Yes, ma'am," Alexander whispered and tried to keep as still as possible.

She searched his eyes like a hawk for ten seconds before releasing him. Alexander pushed himself away from the edge of the bed as quickly as possibly and pressed his back against the wall. He felt as if she'd been trying to read his mind.

"Recant your loyalty for Valentine." Her words rang in the silence, but Alexander felt the weight on his shoulders grow. "Tell me that you never cared for him, never will care for him. Say you never wished to work for him and will never take an order from him again." Alexander stared at her in horror. "Recant or you'll stay here forever, Alexander. It's simple as that."

Alexander dug his fingernails into his wrists, agitating the bruises. "I – I can't, ma'am," he stammered. "It… I'm not… I want…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I want to do, ma'am. I simply haven't got a choice." His wrist began to bleed, red against the canvas of black, yellow, purple, and white. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"What do you mean you can't?" she demanded, her eyes fiery. "So you are a follower, are you saying? You are a solider?"

Alexander couldn't look at her any longer. "I'm a slave," he corrected. "No matter how much I want to, I can't change that, ma'am. The runes bind me. I… I can tell you I've never cared, I never will after what he's done. I wish I hadn't been forced to live my life like this, serving and working for him. But… I _have_ to obey his demands. It's not a choice."

The Inquisitor's glare traveled and she landed her gaze on his skin chains. "How did you receive the runes? I want the entire story."

Alexander's thoughts went frantic. Could he tell? Technically, the runes were no secret and that night had been anything but a habit. Valentine came around so rarely once the boys were older that Alexander wasn't sure if any of his visits could be considered so.

He opened his mouth twice to start, but couldn't. The fear was tingling at the back of his head and electric-like jolts tickled his palms as if to warn him. "He summoned me," Alexander managed on the third try. He waited. Nothing. "He… called me. With… with a bell. He and – he carried it around. It was… always loud. I heard it in my room, I was… I was trying to sleep. He… I didn't go, at first, because I was going to pretend I was already asleep." A shameful blush rushed to his face. "He didn't like that, he knew I lied when I said I'd been sleeping."

The Inquisitor looked mildly curious. "So they were punishment?"

Alexander shook his head rapidly. "No, no. He – he gave me a warning. Liars ought to be punished. He… he said that a lot when I was younger. I… I used to fib about everything." The idea that she might assume this was a lie struck him. Alexander hurriedly added, "He… he taught me that was wrong. So, I don't anymore, ma'am. I promise."

The Inquisitor looked doubtful, but waved a hand. "Continue."

"He told me… he said it was my birthday. My eighteenth. And… he wanted to see me because of it. To see what kind of person I had grown into." Alexander gnawed at his lip for a moment. "He gave me a… a present, he called it. He… he offered to answer any three questions I had."

The Inquisitor leaned forward with true interest now. "What did you ask?"

Alexander hung his head. "Only about my parents, ma'am. I… he never told me about them. I only… I only knew their names. I didn't ask my other two questions. He told me I could save them for another time. But… it's too late now."

"What did he tell you?"

Alexander shut his eyes and tried to recall his master's words. "Mayrse and Robert Lightwood," he murmured. "He said… he told me that Father was cruel to other Nephilim, but kind to Downworlders. And that Mother never loved anyone, especially not me."

The Inquisitor snorted and Alexander's eyes flew open. He almost didn't believe that the undignified sound had come from her.

"Robert? Cruel?" She made a sound somewhere between amused and disgusted. "Mayrse without any love? I never thought I'd be one to defend your family, Alexander, but I'm not entirely sure he was talking about them. It sounds more like his own household. Jocelyn never seemed to care much for her eldest…" Her voice trailed off before she jolted back into seriousness. "Your parents are currently in the Gard, anxiously waiting to meet their long lost son, who, of course, is not allowed visitors until we are certain he is not a spy." She raised her eyebrows in an accusatory manner and Alexander felt his insides recoil. "Continue."

It took several beats for Alexander to compose himself. "He… he had another gift, then. He said… He told me that I was Nephilim, even though I wasn't trained." He gazed mournfully at the tattoos. "I suppose, I am, ma'am, aren't I?" The Inquisitor remained silent, so he rushed on. "He said that even the most… incompetent Shadowhunters deserved runes." He was recalling Valentine's tone, not necessarily his words. Alexander wasn't sure if he'd actually said that but he certainly implied so. "He gave me these and –" Alexander suddenly found it hard to breathe.

It wasn't from the runes. He knew this had to be true, because it had happened too many times without him moving a muscle. It was that painstakingly clear message that was burned into his body. He wasn't free. He'd never be free. And God, it hurt, even if freedom was something he never knew, even if it was a term completely unmet. He forced himself to plow on.

"He said I was forever loyal, ma'am. That they'd punish me if I didn't obey orders from a Morgenstern." Alexander could barely whisper, but the Inquisitor must have heard it because her eyes lit up. "Then he gave me the orders and –" He choked. "I can't tell you what he told me after the orders."

The Inquisitor nodded once, clearly eager for him to finish his story. There was something in her, like a fire had been sparked. "Did anything else happen?"

Alexander spoke without thinking for the first time in weeks. "He gave me the poison." He wasn't sure what made him blurt it out except the sudden realization that nothing from that night had triggered the rune. Impulse, he realized, was a dangerous thing.

He felt incredibly lucky that the next sound wasn't his own screams.

Instead, it was Tobias's.

"He _poisoned_ you?" the boy shouted, unable to keep himself in his spot. Red faced and angry, he was suddenly beside the Inquisitor, whose expression made her look as if she'd been slapped. "What poison was it? What does it do? _Why?_ Tell us, Alexander!"

Alexander stiffened and turned his face away. Tobias hadn't ever used a tone like that around him. "I – I don't know what it is!" he cried out and put his hands over his face. "It's just – he put it in a glass of wine and told me it w-would help my injuries, I d-don't – i-it's killing m-me, he said, th-that's all he s-said!" Alexander curled into himself further and tried to hide the humiliating wet streaks that now marked his cheeks. "P-please, I'm s-sorry, I-I don't know, I – I –"

"Alexander, calm down!" Tobias yelled, but his voice was gentler now. Alexander felt large hands encircle his wrists, but refused to put his hands down. "Please, Alexander, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, it's all right," Tobias pleaded. "I'm not mad at you, kid, come on, don't do this. It's okay. I promise, I'm not mad at you. I – I overreacted, I shouldn't have."

"Shouldn't d-doesn't mean anything," Alexander choked, reciting an old lesson. "It s-still means did."

Tobias laughed hollowly. "Valentine teach that to you, too?" he asked. He slid his hands from Alexander's wrists to his shoulders, holding on firmly. "For an evil guy, he's got some nice words of wisdom. Listen, Alexander, I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell us what you _do _know."

Alexander spoke into his hands. "I'm d-dying," he said and his stomach felt even emptier than before. "I d-don't know w-what it d-does, j-just… I think i-it's making me v-vomit a-and I – I had a f-fever after I d-drank it." He gasped for breath, his shoulders trembling. "P-please, I'm s-sorry, I didn't – I don't – he d-doesn't need me any- anymore. He d-doesn't want – he –"

"He's trying to get rid of you?" Tobias prompted. Alexander nodded, his mouth unable to form words. Tobias's grip tightened. Alexander was used to this by now. He always grabbed tight to someone or something when he was tense. Still, he flinched at the pressure. "Why didn't he just use a knife or a_ fast_ acting poison and get it done with?"

"N-no f-fun that w-way?" Alexander suggested with a shrug. He was almost sure he'd have preferred a quick death to this internal ticking that counted down his seconds.

"How long do you have?" The Inquisitor's voice startled Alexander. He'd nearly forgotten her precense in his hysteria. She sounded strained and contemplating.

Alexander wiped at his eyes. "A y-year, ma'am. If I'm l-lucky."

The Inquisitor turned on her heel and clacked towards the door. "Carstairs, come with me."

Tobias sent Alexander a fleeting, sorrow filled glance, but followed her orders quietly.

The door shut with a _bang_ behind them.

When Alexander was around fifteen and Jonathan was fourteen, they talked about death.

The dungeons were full of pests and bugs, predominantly mice. Alexander had learned to coexist with the little creatures and even became fond of the pitter patter of their footsteps. A family lived nearby his room and he saw them every day. Jonathan, not yet one to summon Alexander to his own room, had visited the dank prison-like area for his own form of entertainment.

Much to Jonathan's chagrin, Alexander, who already dreaded those nights, was preoccupied by one of his little friends. An older mouse, one that walked more slowly each day, had been injured somehow and now laid dying on the cold floor. He was alone. Alexander sat beside him and gently stroked the white head, vaguely aware of what was going to happen.

Jonathan came and wrapped his arms around Alexander, murmuring with his suffocating hot breath into his ear. Alexander protested, still petting the mouse as a pure distraction from the fingers that worked their way under his clothes in a spidery fashion. He didn't want the mouse to die alone, he told Jonathan. Not tonight.

Jonathan had laughed and tugged Alexander's collar to the side roughly, ignoring him as usual. Alexander said no again and insisted he would stay with the old mouse. This only caused Jonathan to laugh more cruelly. He said there was a reason the mouse was all alone. Everyone always left when you died. Once you died, you were nobody and nobody cared.

Then he dragged him into the lumpy bed and finished his game.

The bang of the door rang in Alexander's ears for several minutes until he lied down and stared at the ceiling. Jonathan must have been right.

Everyone leaves when you're dead.

* * *

Isabelle knew it sounded insensitive. She knew it was somewhat wrong. She knew they were already going crazy.

But goddammit, if the two of them didn't grab each other and screw their brains out soon, the sexual tension was going to kill her.

Sitting between Jace and Clary for hours on end was torturous. They spoke little, and each word they did say was clipped and quiet. They refused to meet eyes, they refused to even sit next to each other. Isabelle tried to get up a few times, to walk around Alicante and stretch her legs, but was pulled back into her seat each time. Neither was going to let her leave them alone.

As excited as she was to meet Alec, the reality of the situation was damn boring (except for the little soap opera sitting beside her, but that was an entirely different situation). They weren't allowed to even see him until he completely recanted Valentine. She didn't see how that could be too much of a problem, but apparently it was harder than it sounded.

"I wonder why it's taking so long," Isabelle thought aloud, hoping to strike some conversation in her companions. She wished Max hadn't been forced to stay at the Penhallows. Even more, she wished they hadn't been left out of the meeting room where their parents sat.

Jace bristled beside her. "Well, if he _raised _him, there's bound to be some sort of attachment." He raised his eyebrows. "Could you turn your back on your father just because they tell you so?"

Isabelle fell silent, cursing herself for her lapse of memory. At this point, she was being so tactless that she could probably get away with telling them to make out already.

"_I_ wonder why I'm here," Clary said contemplatively and bounced her leg nervously. "I can't imagine why they need me here when they have Jace." Isabelle was tempted to kick her ankle.

"Maybe they want you for a different reason," she said instead, "Maybe they want to –"

"He's been _what?"_

Isabelle turned her neck towards the door so quickly that she felt it crack. Jace rose to his feet, stele already in hand, and Clary's eyes went so wide they looked like saucers.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

Isabelle reached down into her boot for her own stele and jangled her bracelets like she always did when possible conflict arose. "No clue, be quiet so we can hear." She stood and leaned her entire body towards the door and tried to drink in the shouts.

There was no need. It burst open a second later and she and Jace collapsed back into their former positions with practiced ease.

The Inquisitor strode out calmly with a blonde boy trailing along behind. Isabelle watched Mom, Dad, and the Consul follow seconds later.

"We need a warlock," the boy said urgently. "Consul, please, can't you contact one?"

Isabelle never liked Malachi. He had an air of arrogance far more obnoxious than any other Shadowhunter she knew. The sneer he set on the blonde only increased her distaste. "Why waste our time and money on it? Let him tell us the information and be done. He's going to die eventually anyway." He waved his hand and Isabelle realized that he had to be talking about Alec.

Why did he need a warlock? Isabelle sat on the edge of her seat with only Jace's strong grip holding her back. She didn't like being left out of discussions like this, especially when they were held right in front of her.

"Malachi, this is a human being that we're discussing," the Inquisitor snapped and Isabelle's wary respect for her went up tenfold. "Just because he'd physically unable to recant doesn't mean we ought to let him perish. Call up Ragnor Fell."

Malachi's mouth twisted into a grimace. "He won't do. He charges a ridiculous amount. And I still don't see the point in this! He hasn't recanted, why are we saving a spy?"

"He's just a scared kid!" the boy with the Inquisitor shouted. "He's terrified, all right? He's – I've talked to him, he's the most timid person I've met in a long while, all right? He's been abused, he's been lied to, and now he's being tortured slowly to death. Consul, he hasn't eaten in days, he's wasting away. It's only going to get worse if we don't find the antidote."

Isabelle watched her parents stand by without a word and couldn't take it anymore. Her stomach felt like a chunk of lead that sunk with every word the others said. She ripped herself out of Jace's grasp and ran into the middle of the fray. "What's going on?" she cried, unsure if she even wanted to know. "What's wrong with my brother?"

The blonde boy stepped forward and extended a hand in greeting. "You must be Isabelle. I'm Tobias."

Isabelle frowned but shook his hand. "I don't care about pleasantries. Tell me what the hell is wrong with my brother."

Tobias smiled weakly. "He needs someone to protect him. I'm glad you seem up to the job." He bit his lip and looked at the ground, otherwise unfazed by her withering glare. "Look, he's… he's not doing well. He's been poisoned and bound with runes. The runes… They used to be our biggest problem, but at the moment, the poison is overriding that on list of things to fix."

"Things to fix? There's a list of things to fix?" Isabelle intensified her glare with ease. Living with two brothers tended to teach someone how to do that. "There shouldn't be anything that we need to _fix_, there's nothing wrong with him the way he is."

Tobias stepped back a few inches and put his hands up in surrender. "All right, all right, relax. Just… listen, there actually is several things wrong with him, but none of it's his fault. He's definitely been abused –"

"How did Valentine do it?"

"How?" Jace was suddenly beside her. "How did Valentine abuse a kid? Isabelle, he – he wasn't ever against corporeal punishment, you know. The man wasn't a big lump of love."

Isabelle nudged him in the ribs to shut him up. "No, I mean what _kinds _of abuse?"

Tobias took a deep breath and Isabelle watched his hands curl into fists. "Not important right now."

"But –"

"Isabelle, you want to know what's going on, so I'm telling you. He doesn't know what the potion is, but he's been given at most a year to live. We need a warlock. And soon." Tobias had chocolate brown eyes that stared her down. "Now, Isabelle, I'd love to speak with you, but unless you know someone who can brew workable potions and use magic at a cheap price, then we'll need to wait a little longer." He stepped away, clearly intent on leaving her hanging.

"Magnus Bane." The name slipped out of Isabelle's mouth quicker than she realized. She was unmoving, somewhat shocked at the information so bluntly given. She twisted her body to stare at her parents, who were both pale and strained. "He's not cheap, but… I'm friends with him. We have his number." She looked back at Tobias for a brief second before directing her gaze towards the Inquisitor. "Magnus is the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He's good, really good. And he gave us a discount on the Portal." She searched her mind frantically for a selling argument. "He's my friend and he knows I want Alec to be okay. He'll help. Maybe even for free."

The tension laid so thickly that Isabelle figured she could have sliced it with a knife and handed out pieces on paper plates at a party.

Mom, however, handled that task. "I'll send a fire message. He's… we've worked with him before."

Malachi's face was now contorted in disgust. "This is completely useless," he muttered. "But by all means, go on. Waste the end of this boy's life by letting a million Downworlders experiment on him. And, for his own sake, I hope this Bane charges you for the rest of his life for the incredibly idiotic waste of time."

The door slammed on his way out.

Isabelle figured that she ought to start brainstorming alternate careers. Working with Malachi for her whole life was going to be hell.

* * *

End Note: Well, the big secret's out! The poison has been revealed! And none other than Magnus Bane is being called in to help! The big Magnus-Alec meeting that you've all waited so patiently for is coming up next chapter.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter (I'm not crazy about the Izzy section, I feel Robert and Mayrse were... well... bad. I'm working on writing them, it's just difficult in a large group). Reviews and feedback would be absolutely wonderful! And, of course, your speculations are so entertaining to read :) Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter Four

**Title:** Eternally Bound

**Summary:** _Alexander Lightwood was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Now he must free himself and experience life before his runs out._

**Note: **I apologize for this taking so long! I meant to have this up on Monday, but Tuesday contained my history midterm and I really needed to study. Therefore, I was unable to finish the chapter until, well, today. Midterm Week actually lasted two weeks this years, so it was a bit of a mess. That plus the fact that i rewrote the second half of this chapter two or three times didn't help with my speed (I was trying a new POV and I was having trouble getting it right... I'm still working on it a little). Anyhow, here is the moment you've all been waiting for! I know things are moving slowly, but we have one more chapter of Gard stuff and then we bust Alexander out and introduce him to the world!

Which, of course, is bound to be interesting. Enjoy!

_I'm sorry I didn't get to reply to most reviews for the last chapter! I loved every single one of them but I don't have time to go back and catch up on replies! I DO intend to reply to them all for this chapter, so don't think I'm slacking! Life is just nuts! And those of your speculating in the reviews... I just love it. It gives me ideas, sometimes, it reiterates others I've had, and sometimes it just makes me think "Oooh. Why didn't I think of that? But... it doesn't work into my plot!" Keep on speculating, you guys are great! _

**Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does.**

* * *

_Chapter Four_

Magnus Bane was never mystified by Idris. He was never awed by the gleaming buildings, he never had to stop and just stare at the clear blue skies.

Certainly, the country was beautiful. Magnus appreciated beauty of all kinds and he'd never deny that the Shadowhunter homeland was gorgeous.

But that splendor was superficial, manmade, rarely changing or fluctuating. Not as precious as the beauty that had to be conserved and protected.

Magnus found life in itself stunning. That breath that could be easily stopped, the fluttering heartbeat that too easily ceased – despite all that, life was determined to continue, no matter the hardships, no matter the worries or danger.

So, he followed the Inquisitor through Alicante without the eye of a tourist, only gazing briefly at the glimmering glass towers. The lavish pebbled streets were nearly empty, diminishing what could have been a lively, pretty sight.

He would be lying if he said that Alec Lightwood didn't pique his interest. He'd spoken little with Isabelle – a gorgeous girl, with her spirit and drive to succeed – but knew that the boy was a mystery to even his family. Abducted and raised by Valentine as a child, finally recovered yet entirely different than what they expected. Magnus could only hope the boy wasn't another obnoxious Jace-like Nephilim. There were enough of them in the world.

When he learned of the poison, Magnus set a spell to feed Chairman Meow while he was away and packed immediately for Idris. He didn't even ask for the price. Well, he hadn't yet. He'd wait to see what kind of condition he was in before charging.

The Inquisitor barely spoke to him as she led the way through the Gard and into the prison. Magnus was content with that. He had never liked Imogen Herondale much and small talk was a waste of time for both warlocks and Shadowhunters when work was involved.

"This is it," she said when they reached a cell and jangled her keys. "He's been ill all morning, vomiting again."

Magnus wrinkled his nose without meaning to. He'd admit to having a bit of a queasy stomach. "Again?"

"We think it's part of the potion's effects," she said shortly. Her hand was on the knob, but she didn't twist it. "And before you ask, we haven't got a clue what it is."

Magnus rolled his eyes and examined his nails, not to check for chips as it appeared but to prepare to ruin the new manicure with sparks. He knew it was a foolish thing to expect any job to last for more than a few days with the amount of magic he did, but he did like when his hands were nice. They gave a good impression to clients. "So, I'm guessing you want a diagnosis?"

"And a cure," the Inquisitor added firmly. "You _will_ be able to find a cure, correct?"

"I can_ try_," he said honestly. "But until I know what it is, the most I _might _be able to do is stop the symptoms. Anything else I ought to know about the Boy Who Lived?"

Magnus felt a little clever for the book reference – despite never liking the fantasy genre, he felt skimming through the Harry Potter series had been worth a few days in his obscenely long life. The Inquisitor either didn't understand it or didn't care. "One of our young soldiers has become rather attached to him, and vice versa. I feel it's only fair to warn you that if you harm the boy, Carstairs will drown you in holy water."

Magnus narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure I can fight off a Carstairs, just as I can fight off a Morgenstern, a Lightwood, or a Herondale." He raised his eyebrow as if to dare her to argue.

Imogen lifted her chin. "I don't believe you've fought any of the sort, warlock, and I ask you to refrain from such threats or we'll have to revoke the job offer."

Magnus snorted but said nothing more. As if they'd change their minds. The way Isabelle had put it, he was the _only _candidate for the job.

Clearly bristled, Imogen snapped her head away and flung open the door.

Immediately, Magnus felt the urge to hurl. He clutched his stomach as inconspicuously as possible, resolute in keeping a professional front. This was work, he couldn't just show them the contents of his breakfast.

But the _retching_ from within – it was turning his insides.

"Come," Imogen said, as if he were a dog, and strode into the cell. Magnus dropped his pride and witty retorts and followed, focusing on simply keeping his own bile down.

A blonde Shadowhunter in full gear stood outside of the tiny bathroom, his back to Imogen and Magnus. "I'm sorry, Alexander, I didn't – I won't – are you okay? Do you want a glass of water? I shouldn't have tried to get you to eat anything."

There was coughing and more retching from within the bathroom. Magnus caught of peek of ink black hair, similar to Isabelle and Max's. "I'm fine, sir," a hoarse voice responded once the coughing slowed. "Please don't be –" There was the sound of vomit hitting the bottom of a toilet and Magnus shut his eyes tightly.

The Nephilim in gear was pleading. "Alexander, let me – you're going to fall in if you don't let me help. And – no, Alexander, stop moving, you're putting too much pressure of your injuries, just let me hold you up, I'm not going to –"

"Sir, _please_, I'm –" The hoarse voice was cut off by more vomiting. A moment later, after a few hacking coughs, he spoke again. "I think that was the last of it, sir. May I go back to bed?"

"Of course. Let's get you cleaned up first, though, all right?"

"Carstairs, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the Inquisitor said sharply and Magnus open his eyes in a rush. No need to have anyone notice he was seconds away from puking.

The blonde turned around, alarmed. "Inquisitor! I – I didn't hear you come in. How… how long have you been there?"

Magnus checked his watch with a glance. "Three and a half minutes, I'd say."

The boy snapped his direction towards the warlock. He looked serous for a boy that looked so young. Granted, he was physically older than Magnus, but he'd stopped judging age by physicality long ago. "You're the warlock that's come to cure Alexander?" he asked.

Magnus tried to peer into the tiny bathroom again to see this so called Alexander. Carstairs was effectively blocking him from view. "Yes. And it'd be helpful to see my patient, so if you'd kindly _move_ I could begin my work." He was only putting up an act, of course. He was more than happy to allow the boy to remain there until all the vomit had been cleaned up.

The boy, thankfully, did just that. "_You're _Magnus Bane?" he asked incredulously. "But you're…"

Magnus crossed his arms. "I'm what?" The boy didn't complete his statement and just stared. "I'm what? Not powerful looking? Don't look like a High Warlock? Well, Blondie," he cringed internally at giving away his nickname for Jace, "There are more than appearances to me." He snapped and felt the heavy weight of a book in his hands. "Spell book," he explained and held it up. "Let me see the kid."

Carstairs stepped backwards into the bathroom. "Actually, I – Boss, no offense, but I don't want to leave this guy alone with Alexander."

Magnus snapped with his other hand and vanished the book back to its shelf in New York. "Why the hell not?" He liked this kid less by the second.

The Inquisitor looked towards Magnus and then at Carstairs again. "Carstairs, I will remain here for Bane's examination. He's a competent warlock and won't harm Alexander in any way."

Carstairs looked hesitant. He looked back towards the black haired boy. "Boss –"

"Tobias Carstairs, you will wait outside of the cell," she demanded sharply.

The boy's shoulders lumped ever so slightly in defeat. Magnus nodded at the Inquisitor with a little more respect than before. He'd never had one, but the scary grandmother act was always a good one.

"Can I at least… you know… help him get to his bed?" Carstairs asked.

The Inquisitor looked at Magnus as if it were up to him. He shrugged – he didn't really care what the Shadowhunter did. As long as he'd be able to get the job done efficiently, it didn't matter.

"Go ahead," the Inquisitor allowed.

Carstairs jumped to his job. He turned around and was suddenly helping the black haired boy to his feet and handing him a towel. "Wipe off your face," he advised gently. "Can you stand?"

"Yes, sir." The boy's voice was meek and feeble.

"Good. I'll be right back. You brush your teeth and drink that glass of water. It'll help, I promise." He emerged from the bathroom and hurriedly straightened worn sheets and fixed pillows on the lumpy cot. Magnus watched in amusement at the Shadowhunter's care. The Inquisitor seemed to be right – he had formed a rather strange attachment to the Lightwood boy.

Contrary to popular belief, Magnus did not always crave attention. He was an observer by nature, a participant by survival tactics. He knew the best way to make connections and business, to fend off loneliness and despair, was to make sure he was never alone. In time, he learned to love it, learned to embrace the staring eyes. He taught himself to attract the gazes and keep them there.

Still, sometimes it was nice to step back and just watch.

Carstairs was exceedingly careful when he led the boy in the bathroom to the bed. He was still partially shielded from view, but Magnus could tell how his shoddy clothes slipped off his shoulder and how his legs trembled. He tried not to imagine what Isabelle would do when he reported about her brother's health.

If that didn't convince him to do his job well, he didn't know what would.

The bed creaked as Carstairs helped the boy lower himself onto the mattress.

"You going to be okay?" Carstairs asked in a low voice. "There's a, uh…" He glanced back at Magnus, who flashed him a dazzling smile. "There's a warlock here to see you. His name is Magnus Bane and he's going to find the cure for the poison."

"I'll be fine, sir." The voice was slightly less hoarse. "Can you please pass me that glass of water?"

Carstairs handed the boy a glass and stepped back slowly, finally revealing the boy completely.

Magnus was glad that he wasn't the one holding anything. He'd have dropped it. The boy looked barely alive. He was a living corpse, paler than a vampire and thinner than a stick. His cheeks were sunken and his teeth had a yellow-ish tinge, which Magnus suspected was from the vomiting.

As he thought about it, the smell got to him again. He concealed a groan and snapped his fingers. Sparks flew and the room smelled like lilacs.

The boy's eyes widened and Magnus saw they were a dazzling blue. They were too big for his thin face, though, and guarded as if they held a precious treasure.

"Never seen magic before?" He laughed. "You'll get used to it. Do you like lilacs? I can always switch it out for something else."

The boy shook his head and averted his eyes instantly. "No, sir, it's fine."

Silence ensued. Magnus took a deep breath and inhaled the flowery scent. Was lilac supposed to help you relax? Or was that lavender? Either way, it wasn't really working.

"So!" He clapped his hands together once and sparks flew from his palms. "We ought to get started. Inquisitor, you just want a report on the state of the poison, I'm assuming?" He looked towards the woman expectantly.

The Inquisitor observed the boy for about ten seconds. "No. Bane, if you don't mind, could you do a full examination? We haven't managed to get a Clave doctor near him long enough to look at his injuries for long."

Magnus frowned and snapped his gaze towards the boy. He seemed to shrink under the glares. "You haven't had him _treated?" _If they weren't the ones paying him, Magnus was sure he'd have gone on a twenty minute rant about the idiocy of Shadowhunters right there and then.

"Of course we've had him treated," the Inquisitor snapped. "But we had to put him under for even the slightest bit of cooperation and there's only so much we can do with a boy who isn't fit to handle an iratze."

Magnus shut his eyes. They were beginning to hurt. "All right," he said and shook his head. "Fine. Carstairs, out." He jabbed his thumb towards the door.

Unsurprisingly, the blonde shook his head. "I'm staying here."

"Out. I don't work with an audience." It was bad enough that the Inquisitor was staying to supervise. Carstairs didn't move. "That means get out or I don't do it."

His shoulders slumped and he squeezed Alexander's shoulder gently. "I'll be back when he's done," he murmured. "If he hurts you, you should kick him."

A rosy red rushed to Alexander's cheeks. "Um, sir, I don't know if –"

"He's a Downworlder," Carstairs said dismissively. "Kick him as hard as you want."

Magnus glared when the boy passed him on his way out, but didn't bother defending himself. It was better to keep the knowledge that he could easily cut off Carstairs' air supply with a flick of the finger to himself.

He put on the friendliest smile he could muster in Shadowhunter territory and approached the bed with a slight bounce in his step. "So, Blue Eyes, are you going to cooperate with me or will I have to force you?"

The blush that had begun to fade came back full force. "My name is Alexander, sir."

Magnus shrugged. "And my name is Magnus. As long as you get to call me sir, I get to call you nicknames. Deal?"

Alexander narrowed his eyes his confusion. "Sir –"

"Blue Eyes, listen." Magnus put a booted foot on the bed and leaned his elbow on his knee. "We have the time in the world to argue about names and such. I've got the next twenty seconds to start this examination before our darling Inquisitor kills us both. Can you cooperate?"

Alexander flicked his attention towards the stoic Inquisitor and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good, then." He stepped back and tried to take in this frail boy's appearance from a medical, not pitying, point of view. He was injured, that was definitely true. Magnus could see the bruises curling up under his sleeves and shirt. It'd be impossible to treat them without seeing the full extent. Gently as he could, he asked, "Blue Eyes, is there any way I'd be able to convince you to take off your shirt for about… oh, ten minutes or so?"

Magnus waited patiently for a response, but Alexander had frozen.

"Blue Eyes?" he prompted. "I really need to see those bruises."

The boy began to tremble violently. "Y-yes, sir," he mumbled and reached for the hem of his shirt with a shaking hand.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on!" Without thinking, Magnus grabbed the boy's hand and pulled it away from the shirt. A jolt of energy – not magic, not even painful – zapped through his fingers at the touch. "I don't want you to be scared, Blue Eyes," he said, scrambling for an excuse as to why he reached out. It had been a reflex, not something he thought about.

Alexander stared at their entwined hands with horror but didn't move. Magnus gulped and gently pulled away. He held his arm out, palm facing upwards, but didn't touch the boy. He had an idea.

"Alexander, I promise that I'm not going to hurt you," Magnus said softly. He knew the Inquisitor was staring them down, but he also knew that she wouldn't dare interrupt in case he got somewhere with this. "If you believe me, just take my hand."

Alexander was too busy staring at his own, flexing and rubbing his fingers in confusion.

"Alexander, please pay attention," Magnus said a little more sharply in hopes to hold his focus. The boy's wide eyes snapped to face him. "Take my hand if you trust that I won't hurt you."

"Who are you, sir?" Alexander asked and cocked his head to the side like a young child.

This was killing Magnus. He didn't know how Isabelle would be able to handle this. He smiled warmly, though, and kept his front. "I'm Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn. I'm here to help with your injuries and the poison."

Alexander chewed on his lip and slowly slipped his hand into Magnus's. "You look normal," he commented quietly. "Not like a Downworlder. I thought Downworlders were… bad. Not normal. They don't look normal." He paused and frowned. "Right?"

Magnus didn't squeeze Alexander's hand at all, but flipped it over to look at his palm. "Have you seen my eyes?" he asked and widens them slightly. "They're like cats'. That's my sign. If you don't mind me saying, you look pretty not normal for a Shadowhunter. I'm here to help fix that." He traced the lines of Alexander's palm gently with hopes that it would convince him that there would be no harm. "I promise I'm not going to hurt you."

Alexander was watching their hands intently. "Will I be able to eat again, sir?"

"I hope so."

Alexander took a deep breath, drew his hand away, and nodded. "What do I have to do, sir?" he asked meekly.

Magnus pressed his lips together. He sent out a silent prayer to no one that this wouldn't make this short victory backpedal. "Your shirt, Alexander. For just a few minutes."

Alexander looked towards the bathroom with what Magnus construed as loathing and stripped his shirt so quickly that Magnus could barely blink. He crossed her arms over his chest self-consciously, but Magnus couldn't do anything but gape.

The boy was a mess of scars and bruises and marks. Five long scratches curved around from his back and the white skin that looked as if it had never seen sun was interrupted by purples and blacks and reds. He was past skinny and clearly malnourished with his ribs clearly countable. Magnus couldn't move, he couldn't even bring himself to read the bright red raised scar that appeared to spell something out on his upper left arm. He could only stare in amazement and disgust at whoever would do this to a person.

The boy's face, on the other hand, was bright red. "I… I don't like throwing up, sir," he said timidly. "I'd… I would really like to be able to eat again. Please."

Magnus shut his eyes from the sight. "I'm going to have to do some magic," he warned and gathered the sparks at his fingertips. This was going to be more difficult to deal with than he expected.

* * *

"I don't know what it is."

Tobias's stomach sunk at the warlock's words. He had waited for over two hours in the meeting room with the Lightwoods for good news. This was anything but.

The warlock rubbed his temples in circles as he plopped into a chair. "I've been looking at the blood sample for ages. I isolated the poison – I know it's poison, that much I could figure out – and I've been studying it, but it's nothing I've ever seen before. Nothing I've heard of before. I can't even find it in one of my books."

"So what are we going to do?" Mayrse Lightwood asked. She was sitting stiffly beside the Inquisitor. Her eyes weren't red anymore, but she looked like a woman trying to hide her emotions. Which, Tobias figured, was mostly true. "Is there anything we can do?"

Bane sighed. "He's in bad shape, I'll give you that. I'd have to say that, at the moment, all we can do is try to fix the symptoms. Right now, he's vomiting." He looked a little sick at the word. "I gave him something that will keep his stomach down ordinarily. Hopefully, it will work and he'll be able to eat again. Once he gains some weight and his bruises clear up, I think there will be a better chance of him being strong enough to last a while."

"Long enough to find a cure?" Tobias asked skeptically.

Bane looked at him morosely. "We can hope."

Tobias was generally an optimistic man, but Alexander had introduced him to the world of pessimism. There just didn't seem to be a way for this boy to live. "Did you find anything about his past?"

The Inquisitor spoke from the head of the table. "Nothing we didn't already know. He's been abused." She shrugged. "He doesn't like human – or humanoid - contact. Bane managed to get through to him for a short while, though. And I believe he's afraid of needles."

Bane made a discontented expression when the Inquisitor implied he was inhuman, but Isabelle stopped any impending argument swiftly. "Ugh, I hate needles," she agreed. "Are phobias genetic?"

Bane looked amused. "Most behavioral psychologists would say no. But perhaps you two can bond over hatred of blood tests?"

Isabelle wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather not." She brightened quickly. "When can we meet him?"

Tobias couldn't deny that he had an incredible amount of respect for the girl. She was fierce and knew what she wanted. Unafraid of what it might hold. Strong enough to face it. She reminded him of his older sister. Felicity had only been Isabelle's age when she jumped into a situation too difficult to handle.

The vampire had barely left her remains.

Isabelle's intensity was overwhelming. She stared everyone down with her dark eyes, demanding to have an answer.

"Not until we perform a small experiment," the Inquisitor said. "Clarissa, Jonathan, I'm going to need your help."

Tobias frowned. He knew about this, but he didn't like it at all. He didn't see why it was necessary to possibly put the boy through the pain. It was legitimately torture and wasn't that violating some sort of Law? But he had no authority in this. He barely had authority at all. Right now, the only thing he could do was listen and keep his mouth shut.

The redhead cocked her head to the side. "So you're finally going to tell me why I was called here?"

"What do you want with us?" Jace asked in a more demanding than curious tone.

"Just a moment, Morgenstern," the Inquisitor said sharply. "Learn patience, it's a useful skill to have." The boy looked doubtful, but she continued on. "Bane, besides treating symptoms, what do you suggest we do?"

Bane chewed on his inner cheek for a moment and held up his hand to look at his nails. "His mental state is in horrible shape, perhaps more horrible than his body."

"What's wrong with him?" Robert asked urgently. Tobias watched him lean forward with eagerness. "Is it something that can be fixed?"

Bane's green eyes swept around the table and rested on Tobias instead of Robert. Tobias straightened his back slightly and leaned as far away as possible while remaining in his chair. There was something predatory about Downworlders that he despised.

"He's been abused, tortured, stripped of freedom, and now robbed of even his life. What do you _think_ is wrong with him?" Now Bane looked at Robert and Mayrse and raised his eyebrows. "No answer? Well, he's certainly depressed. Suicidal, I can't say, but that's a moot point, he's dying as it is. I'm not sure how many of those injuries were self inflicted, but I know that most if not all weren't, so no need to worry about that. He's afraid of human contact, he seems to be programmed to serve others – I haven't got the official diagnosis, but I can do some research in psychology if you'd like me to. My suggestion – place him with someone he trusts as often as possible. Maybe it'll help him assimilate." Bane shrugged. "There are medications that can help with the depression, but I think that we ought to try and see if maybe just giving him better living quality will help."

"_Is _there anyone he trusts?" Jace asked. "It sounds like he's had a crappy life, I sure wouldn't trust anyone if I were him."

"You _don't_ trust anyone, Wayland," Bane said lightly. "And similarities between you two would be minimal."

"What basis do you have for _that?_" Jace snorted. "You barely know him."

Bane smirked. "Well, for starters, his ego doesn't fill a house." As if he suddenly remembered something, he clapped his hands together. "Housing! Right!" He turned to the Inquisitor. "Get him the hell out of here."

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows. "Why should we? He's a flight risk. He could go back to Valentine. He could be a danger to everyone, including himself. There's no reason to release him, especially as he hasn't recanted."

"It would be torture to force him to recant, perhaps a death sentence," Bane stated plainly. "And give him a guard, a caretaker or something. I was under the impression that Carstairs would fill a role like that." His gaze fell back on Tobias, who felt his eyes widen.

The moment of sudden fondness towards the warlock was ruined by Mayrse's protest.

"He's a child!" She stood from her chair, clearly ignoring Robert's attempt to make her sit down. "Why should a _child_ take care of _my_ son?"

Bane didn't seem affected by this outburst. "Yes, Mrs. Lightwood, you were very good at taking care of your child when you left him alone while knowing a twisted Shadowhunter was out for your family's skins. And, again, your capability as a mother was showcased most wonderfully when you took in a child without even knowing his true identity. Of course, that's not very fair, is it? Wayland didn't know either… I suppose I'll have to go with the simple fact that you left two teenagers to handle all demon hunts in New York City on their own and didn't bother checking in long enough to learn that they were going after a Mortal Instrument. Oh and did you know they faced a Greater Demon? No? Interesting."

Tobias watched Mayrse's face turn from red and angry to pale and shameful. She sank into her seat, her hands over her face.

"We are Shadowhunters, Bane," Robert said quietly and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not sure how your mother raised you, but we do things differently in our world."

Bane laughed hollowly. "I won't even get into Shadowhunter fathers. My dad wasn't much better, though I suppose I have to give him credit. He _did _give me pretty awesome powers." He snapped and sparks flew. "Now, are we going to argue or are we going to give Carstairs the job? Provided you'll take it, of course."

All eyes turned to Tobias. He didn't have to think long – protecting Alexander was his main job at the moment anyhow. "I'm in."

Bane nodded. "Excellent. And, Inquisitor, I ask that I remain Alexander's primary physician?"

"Why would we appoint you as physician?" Mayrse snapped.

Bane shrugged and started watching his glowing fingers. "Perhaps it's because he actually allowed me to touch him and heal his injuries? He looks about ten times better now, I assure you, and he's in the middle of eating breakfast." A small grinned crossed his face and made him look like a Cheshire Cat. "He nearly cried when he managed to take three bites and not feel the urge to puke it up. I think he missed food."

Tobias glared at him as the image formed in his head. "It's not a laughing matter."

Bane looked shocked. "Of course not," he said. "I wasn't laughing. I simply think his joy was… infectious."

"Bane, you're hired," the Inquisitor said and broke the growing tension. "You'll visit the Institute daily once he's settled in for examinations. And you'll continue looking for a cure?"

"As long as I'm paid."

The Inquisitor shook her head and flipped open a notebook. "It's a deal, Bane. Tobias, you'll be ready to leave Idris in a few days?"

"Hold it." Robert slammed his fist on the table. Possibly the first authoritative move Tobias had witnessed from him. "We did _not_ agree to this!"

The Inquisitor was cool and cold. "You don't have to agree. The Clave mandates the orders here. He may be your son, but he is my charge, and therefore, what I say goes. Tobias?"

"I'll be ready, boss," Tobias responded quickly.

"Bane, you may leave," the Inquisitor dismissed with a wave of her hand. Bane pushed his chair away from the table and sped away with barely a wave. "Clarissa, Jonathan, we have to discuss your job now. This is very important because…"

A blast of hot air hit Tobias's ear. "Come with me," Bane whispered and tugged him by his elbow. "We need to talk."

Tobias shot Isabelle a confused look, hoping for some backup from the confident girl, but she was paying keen attention to the Inquisitor. Uneasily, he kicked his chair back and followed the warlock into the hall.

Bane wasted no time beating around the bush once the door to the meeting room was shut. "He'd probably be better off dead."

Tobias leaned against the door and looked at the ground. "Aren't you trying to make him _better_?" This was why he didn't like Downworlders. They didn't care about actual life, just about getting something out of it. Bane was doing it for the pay and nothing else.

"Certainly." Bane's tone was innocent, but Tobias knew he couldn't trust that. "I thought you might want to know more details about your friend's condition. I was hesitant to reveal it while sitting next to Isabelle. Do you want to hear?"

Tobias scuffed up the toe of his shoes and crossed his arms. He didn't want to know what Bane had been doing to Alexander. He didn't want to know how the boy had been scarred. Was it really impossible that Bane could have hurt him? Nobody else seemed to believe it. Even if the Inquisitor was nearby, there were countless ways he could have been emotionally traumatized by the encounter.

"Every detail, Bane," he finally decided in a low voice. "I want to know how much you scarred him."

The warlock nodded and ran his hand through his glittery spikes. "I hope I didn't, but if there is lasting damage, I assure you I will blame myself wholeheartedly." He shut his unnatural eyes and sighed. "He's been abused."

"We know that." Tobias didn't understand why it had to be restated every time Alexander was mentioned.

"No, Carstairs, I don't mean how you think." Bane put his hands over his face and, for a split second, Tobias wondered if this meeting had been more damaging to the warlock than the patient. "He wasn't only physically abused. He's been… Well, all signs… I'm fairly positive he's been sexually abused."

Tobias felt frozen. He forced his mind to think, forced his jaw to move. He barely succeeded. "What?"

"You heard me," Bane said and shook his head. "He has scratches, like from nails, all over his body… he's bruised all over, and there are handprints in several places, most noticeably his wrists… Love bites, marks, in various spots… To sum it up, he looks like he's had a really rough night of sex. Or a rough couple of nights. Weeks. Months. I don't know. He wouldn't tell me anything outright, but he certainly implied that he's had sex and that he didn't want it."

"What do you mean, he implied it?" Tobias questioned warily.

Bane still hadn't opened his eyes or uncovered his face. "I asked if he ever had sex. He didn't seem to know what that _was_. So I asked if someone had ever touched him inappropriately. Again, he wasn't sure what inappropriately was. But he did admit that he had been felt 'all over' by someone. I can't see this kid wanting it, he's too… Too…"

"Naïve?" Tobias suggested.

Bane shrugged. "It'll do." He pressed his palms in front of his face as if he was praying, but Tobias knew he wasn't. He was a Downworlder. What reason would he have to _pray_? "It's going to be tough for him and I thought you might want to know. He'll… Try not to take advantage of him."

"_Me?_ What about _you?_" Tobias scoffed. "I'd never do anything to hurt Alexander!"

"Nor would I," Bane said tersely. "Intentionally. He's far too prone to following orders, even if he doesn't want to. I asked him to remove his shirt for the examination –"

"You _what?_"

"And it didn't take long for him to basically throw it off, even though he was clearly uncomfortable. He'll do what you say because he thinks he has to."

"You made him _undress?_"

Bane's eyes flew open now, bright green and incredulous. "How else was I supposed to see his injuries? I thought you were one of the intelligent Nephilim, Carstairs! It wasn't because I wanted to count his ribs, which, by the way, seem like they've been broken and fixed a few times. Not well, I might add."

Tobias gritted his teeth and tried not to let his hands curl into fists. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Bane gazed behind him at the door that led to the prisons. "Perhaps you can tell him that he doesn't have to follow all orders. Or that to not do anything he's uncomfortable with unless it's absolutely necessary. Whatever. I don't care." He rubbed his temples in circles. "I need a drink."

Tobias flinched when the warlock snapped and a spark of blue erupted from his fingertips. Nothing happened.

Bane rolled his eyes. "Of _course_. My magic won't give me alcohol in the Gard. Fantastic. What's the use of being High Warlock if I can't even get a goddamn drink when I need one?" He threw his hands in the air in despair. "I'm going back in the meeting room to find out what's going on. Feel free to join me or visit the boy. He might be a little shaken. I didn't mean to scare him but," the warlock shrugged. "Magic can be a bit jarring."

"A bit?" Tobias crossed his arms and frowned.

Bane smiled tightly. "It'll be a pleasure working with you."

Tobias moved away to let him re-enter the meeting room, but didn't follow.

He headed straight towards the prison.

The pleasure certainly wasn't returned.

* * *

End Note: Well, I'm off to hide Tobias in my reviewer proof hide out. I didn't even know he was prejudiced until I introduced him to Magnus. -shakes head- And they were meant to be good friends. Way to screw up my plot, Toby. Way to be. Oh well. In my mind, as long as he cares about Alexander, Tobias will deal with it and do what's best for him.

Other notes - I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out, but I intend to begin it tonight and then work on the outline a little more. I'm still only up to Chapter 6, though I know some points I need to hit before the (already planned) final chapters. I haven't had a chance to write anything out yet, due to work, and that will likely continue with the semester. But I will try as hard as I can to be good about updating!

I also updated the summary. It's a little bit changed, due to the fact that I didn't like it and I'm not a fan of displaying pairings in the summary for multichaptered fics. Sure, you guys already have seen it, but I never said things couldn't change. And now that Malec isn't in the summary, I have some leg room to play with them before (probably) ending them up there. But nothing is for sure, dear readers, please know that! So, my wuestions for you reviewers: What do you think of the new summary? What do you think of Magnus POV? (I personally loved writing the whole thing about beauty, it was a nice perspective of things). What did you think of Tobias POV? (It took me a while to get and I'm not loving it yet). Overall, what did you think? I can't wait to hear from you guys!

Thanks for reading! Feedback is my life source!


	6. Chapter Five

**Title:** Eternally Bound

**Summary:** _Alexander Lightwood was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Now he must free himself and experience life before his runs out._

**Note: **Ah! What a long wait! I am so sorry, guys - school is a priority for me, and things got in the way. Add in a new job, severe writer's block on this chapter, and my original characters beckoning for my return during any and all free time, I had to sit down, lock my own characters up, lure the MI ones out of hiding, and force them to let me finish this chapter. I'm glad that so many of you were open to the idea of Tobias being a bit prejudiced. Magnus and Tobias are a whole new basket of fun that I'll be having. This is the last chapter of really introductions and easing you (and Alexander) into this world - things begin to pick up at the end! Enjoy!

This note is quick, but I'd just like to say thank you to _harmonized insanity_, my new beta! (Everyone, give a round of applause, please!)

**Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does.**

* * *

_Chapter Five_

Alexander would lying if he said that the warlock hadn't frightened him.

First of all, he didn't think he had ever seen anyone wear so many colors at once. He wasn't sure he had ever seen that many colors, period. The closest thing he could think of was when flipping through an art book in the library during free time. He liked to look at the different illustrations and sometimes practiced reading with the captions and histories on the paintings.

And the _sparkles! _Alexander didn't think that the gleam of crystals and silver could be on someone's skin. And his nails were black. That wasn't natural, was it? Now that Alexander thought back, he supposed he was wrong in calling the warlock_normal. _He was anything but. The fact that his eyes were his Devil's mark, not his skin or nails or impossibly white and straight teeth, was astonishing.

And he didn't even want to think about the way he held his hand. It was terror inducing, in a way. Alexander's heart began to beat a million miles a minute and something unknown surged through his entire body, rendering him immobile. The sudden grab and shout scared Alexander out of his skin and then his own willingness to reach out shocked him.

Alexander didn't even realize he had that kind of courage.

He was glad to have Tobias sitting beside him again. However grateful he was for Magnus's prickling magic that let his bruises simply fade, Tobias was familiar and comfortable. Alexander couldn't remember having that feeling often, and he clung to it with all his might.

Tobias was oddly silent when he returned to the cell. The only thing he had done besides sit down was ask if he was enjoying his meal. Alexander had nodded and tried to stop shovelling the food into his mouth like an animal.

"What did you think?" Tobias asked as Alexander finished nibbling on his bread.

Alexander frowned and swallowed his small bite. "What did I think of what, sir?"

Tobias's hands balled into fists. "Magnus Bane. That warlock."

Alexander pushed the tray away and drew his knees to his chest. "He seemed kind, sir," he said honestly. "He healed the bruises on my wrists." He held them up as proof, though the inky runes still marred the white skin.

Tobias narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. "Did he heal everything?" His gaze clearly travelled to Alexander's torso and the boy blushed.

"Um… some of it, sir. He said too much magic is bad for a person, though. If they're not warlocks, I mean." He experimentally pressed a spot on his stomach and winced. "Like there's still something there, sir."

"Don't poke your bruises," Tobias said absently and turned away. He seemed utterly distracted.

Alexander nodded and folded his hands on his lap, though the curious, sadistic part of him wanted to try again. He knew that it would still hurt the same, but he could never help just checking. "Yes, sir."

Tobias took a sharp breath. "You don't have to listen to every order you're given. In fact, if you don't want to do something, you shouldn't."

Alexander cocked his head to the side and stared at Tobias inquisitively. Did he have short term memory loss? "Sir, I _have _to follow orders, it's –"

"The runes, the runes, I know." Tobias waved his hand dismissively. He still wouldn't look at Alexander. "But that only applies to Morgensterns. You don't have to follow my orders, or the Inquisitor's orders, and especially not Magnus Bane's orders."

"But, sir –"

Tobias snapped his head around so quickly that Alexander's voice faltered. He could see something blazing in the boy's light eyes and leaned back instinctively from his rage. "He told me that you _undressed _for him. _After _he told me that you were sexually abused. You _didn't _have to do that, Alexander. He's a Downworlder, he's got no authority, he's got no _right _to tell you to do something like that."

Alexander hugged his knees tighter, even though his right one was throbbing. Magnus had tried to help it, but claimed it was almost too far gone to fix with magic safely. He had re-wrapped it tightly and swore to get him something to help him walk. "He was just fixing my injuries," Alexander said in a small voice. "He didn't hurt me, sir. He wasn't like –" He looked down. "Never mind, sir."

Tobias didn't look satisfied, but his posture did relax a little and the fire vanished from his eyes. His face was drawn and tight. "He was right then. You were sexually abused."

Alexander blinked a few times. He knew that Tobias had said the phrase before, and Magnus had mentioned it several times during his examination. "What does that mean, sir?"

Tobias tilted his head to the ceiling with a pleading expression on his face. "I'll give you the Talk later."

"What –"

"I'll explain later."

Alexander nodded and started to poke his fingers through a hole in his shirt. If he was careful, it wouldn't rip too much more. He just couldn't figure out where the holes had come from in the first place.

"Promise me you won't follow anyone's orders just because." Tobias placed his hand over Alexander's. It was warm and rough, though Alexander was sure his own were more callused.

"Sir," Alexander said and looked up hesitantly. Tobias wasn't moving. He was holding his breath. "I promise," he finally finished, though unsure of how he was going to distinguish what was worth the order and what wasn't.

Tobias exhaled and his shoulders sagged. "Good." He wrapped his arm around Alexander and leaned heavily on the thin boy in what Alexander construed to be an odd, very uncomfortable hug. "Thank you."

Alexander pulled away and bit down on his lip. "You're welcome, sir," he whispered. Tobias was the only person that had ever said that phrase to him, and he said it often. It was jarring. Alexander wasn't used to it yet.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask which orders he _should _follow, the cell door creaked open and admitted the Inquisitor. Two teenagers followed behind her, a boy and a girl. They weren't in Shadowhunter gear, but the boy had scars running up his arms, which were bare except for swirling black Marks. The girl was short and jittery, bouncing on her heels. She held onto the boy's wrist tightly, but he didn't seem to notice.

Alexander shrunk under his scrutinizing stare. The boy had a predatory glint in his eyes, a dangerous streak that reminded him so much of Jonathan.

"This is Alexander?" He pointed and looked towards the Inquisitor for confirmation. His voice sounded a little amused and a little disgusted.

Just like Jonathan's.

Alexander couldn't help it. He was trembling, shaking so hard that his vision began to quiver, too. He never thought he'd have to see the boy again, never thought he'd have to hear that tone or feel that glare, but here it was. The boy looked so different from Jonathan, but was exactly the same. He was vaguely aware of Tobias murmuring to him, but everything was gone except for the memories that consumed him.

He felt a hand brush his own, rough and soft at the same time, and jumped away as fast as he could. A loud sound filled his ears and snapped him out of the Morgenstern manor.

The room came into focus again. Everyone was staring and he was on the ground. The pain in his knee pulsed and Tobias had a hand outstretched towards him, frozen. Alexander took several shallow breaths before shifting even a centimetre. It occurred to him that the loud noise had come from his mouth – that he had screamed. He covered his mouth with one hand hurriedly and felt his face burn in shame.

"I… I'm sorry, sir," he said hoarsely and hung his head.

Tobias pulled his arm away. "No, no, it's okay, Alexander. That… that was stupid of me, I'm... _I'm _sorry."

Alexander blinked and the boy from the doorway was next to him. "Let me help you," he said in an authoritative way and bent over, closer, closer each second –

"No!" Alexander tilted his body as far away from him as possible. Blood still pumped through his ears in a thumping beat.

There was pure silence. Alexander didn't understand why, but the boy bent down again, this time at a slightly further distance. He could see Tobias watching them from the corner of his eyes, and the girl had even stopped moving. She was twirling her curls in her fingers nervously.

"_Let me help you_," he repeated firmly, but Alexander scooted away as quickly as he could.

The boy watched his for a minute then turned to the Inquisitor and shrugged. "Nothing's happening," he said. "Either he's got a better pain threshold than me or there's something wrong with those runes."

Before Alexander could even comprehend what this meant, the room erupted into shouts. He couldn't keep up.

"They're fakes –"

"Maybe it's not –"

"Why won't it work? It should, he's a –"

"What if I'm –"

"What did your father teach you? He taught you how to get around them, didn't he? How do you –"

"My father hasn't taught me _anything _about the runes, I've never even –"

"You're a liar, aren't you, Alexander? You lied to save your own skin!"

"He hasn't done anything! Leave him alone!"

"Carstairs, you'll stay quiet or –"

"_Everybody shut up!"_

The new boy, Tobias, and the Inquisitor all snapped their jaws shut in sync. Their faces were red and accusing fingers were pointed everywhere, including at the shell shocked Alexander.

The redheaded girl tore herself away from the entrance to the room and marched into the middle of the scuffle. Everyone towered over her, but she was unaffected. "You, over there!" she ordered and Tobias retreated to the bathroom door where she was pointing. "You, over there!" She pointed towards the far corner.

"What is this, time out?" the boy sneered and crossed his arms. "Are you going to _punish _me, dear _sister _of mine?"

The girl turned red, but glared viciously back. "Over there, _now_. Or I will tell Maryse how you psychologically screwed up her son in less than two minutes!"

The boy sent a withering look towards the Inquisitor but followed the girl's orders. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, watching intently.

The girl gave the Inquisitor a look, but said nothing to the woman. Instead, she crouched down beside Alexander. Her skirt rode up slightly and she rolled her eyes before pulling it down. "Isabelle made me wear it," she said in an explanatory way. "It's her skirt, not mine. I don't wear them, really. She said I wasn't allowed to parade around Idris in jeans and a sweatshirt like I wanted to. Annoying, isn't it?"

Alexander nodded, even though he didn't really understand. She kept looking at him with the brightest green eyes he'd ever seen.

Well, besides the warlock's.

"Will you let me help you?" The hand she offered him was small and soft looking, unlike anything Alexander had encountered. It was truly feminine, even with the chipped colors on her bitten nails.

Alexander gulped. "No."

She frowned. "Let me help."

Why wouldn't it get through their heads? "_No_."

It ripped him apart without warning.

He gasped and fell onto his back, unable to control the spasms that jolted through his muscles. He clenched his jaw. He would not scream, not this time, no, he would not let himself scream, screaming was _weak_, he would not be weak…

The pain travelled across his front, down his back, split his head into two. He writhed helplessly on the cold stone and only half remembered the others existed.

"What do I do, what do I _do_?" The girl was panicky and Alexander felt pressure on his arm that held him still.

"Take back the order!" someone shouted. Alexander thought it might be Tobias, but he couldn't be certain through the haze that engulfed him. His body jerked, completely out of his control, and the only thing that existed was the indescribable agony.

"_How? _Reword it, say never mind, what do I _do?_"

"Oh, for the Angels' sake – Alexander, follow the god damn order! Clary, _help him!_"

The pressure moved from his arm to behind his head and pushed up gently. Alexander gave up even more control and allowed himself to be pushed into an upright position. The pain didn't alleviate like last time.

"Please let me help you," the girl – Clary – pleaded. It sounded like _she _was crying.

Still trying not to sound weak, Alexander croaked out the only thing his scrambled brain would allow. "Yes, miss, please!"

The agony was gone, but tingles lingered. Alexander still couldn't move, his limbs were still twitching, but slowly, very slowly, they went under control. He sucked in deep breaths and put his head between his knees like Jonathan had told him to do once when he almost fainted. It had helped then, and it was helping now.

A smug voice broke the silence. "_I _screwed him up?"

"Shut up, Jace," Clary snapped. Alexander peeked up. She was kneeling beside Alexander, her skirt all uneven and rising up in various places. He caught Jace, the boy in the corner, trying not to look at those places determinedly. Clary looked completely dishevelled now with her hair flying in a million directions and tears streaking down her face. He wondered how long the punishment had lasted. "Are you all right?"

"Of course he's not all right," Tobias said, no longer in his designated spot. He was also kneeling beside him, not touching but near. "He was just _tortured _because you couldn't figure out how to unsay something. I'd just keep your mouth shut from now on if I were you."

"Leave her alone," Jace demanded and stalked away from his corner. "She didn't know anything was going to happen, it didn't work for _me!_" He swivelled his head toward Alexander. "I'm Jace Morgenstern. This is my sister, Clary. You said that the runes made you follow orders from Morgensterns. Why didn't it work when I gave an order?"

The name clicked in Alexander's mind. When Clary first said it, the tickle of recognition had been too far to grasp, but now… How could he tell without revealing Jonathan? The Other One was standing in front of him, but there was nothing he could do. Then it hit him.

He smiled weakly, an elated sort of feeling sweeping through him. Valentine hadn't foreseen this. Alexander didn't _have _to do anything! The fact that the runes weren't working was enough! He didn't know how much of Valentine's plan this spoiled, but it had to be significant in some way! "Maybe," he said slowly, thinking it over, "Maybe the runes only work for female Morgensterns, sir?"

They all stared again.

Tobias frowned but laughed at the same time. "Who'd have thought you had a sense of humour? Valentine Morgenstern as a woman… What a picture…"

Alexander's grin widened shyly and he shook out one of his arms. It still felt remnants of the shudders. "Nobody seems to think a lot, really. I…" He chose his words carefully. "I can't tell you anything, but… If you can figure it out… Valentine didn't think the runes through completely." He felt a huge weight dissipate as he was able to give information against Valentine, as he could_help._

Clary stood gradually, not bothering to fix her skirt. Standing next to Jace, she looked absolutely tiny. She turned to him with bright eyes. "Jace, do you know what this means?" she asked in a low voice. "The runes – the runes that make him obedient to Morgensterns – they don't work for you."

Jace's eyes were almost as exhilarated. "I'm not a Morgenstern." The words, spoken in monotone, rang through the cell.

Clary threw herself against him and, more excitedly, echoed him. "You're not a Morgenstern!"

He laughed and hugged tightly while he buried his face in her curls. "Not a Morgenstern," he whispered. "Not your brother…" Spontaneously, he tilted her chin back and kissed her on the lips. "I'm not your brother." It – whatever i_t _was - seemed to really strike him then, because he grabbed Clary's hands and twirled her around until she stumbled, dizzy and giggling. "I'm not your brother!" They kissed again, more deeply.

Alexander watched, severely unnerved by the physicality of the two. Hadn't Tobias _and _Magnus inferred that doing that was_bad? _That what Jonathan did to him was wrong? What were they _doing?_

"I'm not sure what's going on, but I think this is sort of incestuous," Tobias commented quietly.

They broke apart, Clary's face pink and happy. "No, it's _not, _that's the _point!_"

"Ask Isabelle," Jace said shortly before he swept Clary into another embrace.

"I suggest we let them be." The Inquisitor turned away from the couple and locked her disapproving gaze onto Alexander. "I see we've solved one mystery concerning you. We'll be careful to ensure that you never have to go through that pain again." Her voice was stiff and restrained, a clear contrast from Clary and Jace. "We will allow you to leave the Gard by the end of the week. You will likely arrive at the Institute in the beginning of August."

"The Institute?" Alexander had heard of such Shadowhunter sanctuaries around the world, but had no idea that he'd ever get to see one.

"The one in New York." She paused. "New York City. I hope that you'll be able to adjust well." She paused again before adding, "Magnus Bane also lives in the city. He's brewed the potion to keep your stomach down and will be your physician until we are certain that the poison is gone and no longer harming you."

___Or until I die__. _The morbid thought flitted through Alexander's brain too quickly to stop it.

"And Tobias will be accompanying you, as well. He'll be living with you in the Institute as your caretaker."

Alexander glanced at Tobias, who was watching Jace and Clary laugh and kiss and hug.

"Do you have any questions?"

Alexander shook his head. "No, ma'am," he murmured, but the grin on his face just spread. He was going to get out of this dank room, he was _really _going to be free, free from guards and questions and this stifling air. He could barely even remember the panic attack he had last time he went outside, he was just so thrilled to be _leaving._

Tobias raised his hand but didn't take his eyes off the pair. "I have a question."

"Yes, Carstairs?"

He shook his head. "No, not to you. To him." Jace broke apart from Clary and looked at him, confused.

"I'm sort of busy here, if you couldn't tell," he sneered, but there was a little bit of a joking sound to it.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that…" Tobias narrowed his eyes, still staring. "It's just… if you're not a Morgenstern… who the hell _are_you?"

Jace's eyes grew just slightly. "That… is a very good question."

* * *

"So wait a minute – you actually don't know who you are?" Isabelle knew she had asked that at least seven times a day for the last three days, but she couldn't wrap her mind around the concept.

Jace was lying on her bed horizontally so his head and legs hung off. "Not a damn clue. But I do know that I'm not a Morgenstern."

Isabelle kicked her heels off and curled her legs into her body so she could fit on the bed comfortably. She laid her head on Jace's stomach. "Are you _sure _though?"

"The runes punish him if he doesn't follow an order from a Morgenstern. Runes can't be tricked."

"I know _that_. But what happened?"

Jace sighed and Isabelle felt her head rise and fall with his body. "I ordered him to let me help him up. He said no. Nothing happened. Clary ordered him to let her help him up. He said no. He was suddenly writhing in pain. He didn't know she was a Morgenstern, he didn't know who either of us were. I told you this, Izzy."

"I know, I know…" She sat up and checked the clock in the corner of the guest room in the Penhallow house. "What time is he supposed to get here?"

Jace lifted his wrist to check his watch. "An hour and a half ago," he said.

Isabelle bit her lip. "Do you think everything is okay?" The little she had been allowed to know led her to believe that Alec was in a worse condition than they had been originally told. Who knew if some new medical condition would arise and delay him another day, another week?

"Maybe he had another panic attack or something," Jace suggested. "I don't know what triggers them. Could be anything, right?"

Isabelle shot him a look. She knew about what had happened as soon as Jace and Clary entered the cell. She believed them when they said that neither did anything, but… there was a small part of her that couldn't help but be sceptical.

"I guess," she admitted. "I guess this means I can't hug him when he walks in."

Jace nodded and clapped slowly. "Congratulations, Isabelle. Best idea you've had in a _long _time."

Isabelle rolled her eyes and collapsed against him again. "I hate waiting!"

Jace sat up suddenly and threw her off the bed. "You know what's really weird?"

She spit hair out of her mouth and glared. "Your complete lack of consideration for other people?"

Jace ignored the comment as usual. "He seemed to know who I was. Not immediately, but a little while later, I guess. Once I said my name, there was this… flash of recognition in his eyes, I'd call it."

Isabelle got to her feet and turned away to check herself in the mirror. He'd be there any minute and she wanted to look good the first time she met her big brother. "You think Valentine said something to him?"

"Definitely."

Suspicion crept up on Isabelle. "Did he tell you anything?" She gathered her hair into a messy bun and tied it at the top of her head. She saw Jace's reflection sit up and narrow his eyes.

"Are you accusing me of something?" he asked in a deadly tone.

She forced a laugh. "Of course not. Just curious."

"If I had known _anything _about Alec, you _know _I would have said something."

Isabelle twirled around and leaned against the dresser. "Would you? Since that would be betraying your father and all."

"He's not my father."

Neither raised their voice or injected any venom into their words. If anything, the conversation was monotonic, stating facts.

Isabelle raised her eyebrows and stared at the boy she loved like a brother as closely as she could. She wished she could believe he was telling the truth, but it was almost too hard to wrap her mind around. How could Jace not know? If Alec had really been forced into slavery for the Morgensterns, wouldn't he have had to serve Jace as well?

She opened her mouth to retort, but a short black haired boy stopped in the doorway. Max's cheeks were flushed and he was out of breath. "He's here, he's here!" he announced cheerfully. "I saw the carriage! The horses are so big and cool – I'm gonna go see if I can pet one and feed it a carrot or something. But he's here!" He dashed off again and Isabelle heard him thump down the steps excitedly.

"We'll talk more later," she decided. Jace nodded and pushed himself off the bed.

"Come on," he urged. "I want to see if he's put on any weight."

Isabelle followed him, biting her lip. "Is it really that bad?"

Jace shook his head. "You'll see."

"Jace! Isabelle!" Mom shouted from downstairs. "Your brother is here!" Isabelle could hear the restrained longing in her voice and pushed Jace to hurry. She knew exactly what her mother was feeling.

Jace pushed back and Isabelle couldn't help but grin. "I'll race you," she challenged, even though she was still behind him.

Jace twisted around to look at her and his eyes glinted. "You're on." He stopped short, but Isabelle didn't pause.

"Go!" she shouted and bolted forward, past him.

Their footsteps echoed in the large house and Isabelle couldn't even hear her mother yelling at them over their laughing and taunting. They stormed down the stairs, and Isabelle was about to draw a tie when she and Jace slammed into Max on the bottom step.

Isabelle wrapped her arm around him in apology for using him as a momentum killer, but saw how he stared with wide eyes across the room. She glanced over at Jace, who wore a tight frown and clearly restrained posture. Then she took a breath and looked up.

Alec wasn't anything like she had imagined. She didn't think any amount of description could have prepared her for this sight. He was wearing crisp and ironed clothes, simple slacks and a black button down, but it hung off his body. His cheeks weren't quite sunken, but they were thin. He was leaning heavily on a wooden cane and he was gripping it so tightly that his knuckles were white. He looked absolutely terrified. No more chubby, happy toddler from the picture she had in her pocket. This boy was mature beyond his years and it showed.

She wasn't even sure if it was her brother.

Suddenly, it wasn't so much about not frightening him. _She _was frightened, of who this boy _was_. There was no way to know, was there? He looked like he was about to break, but what did he have hidden up his sleeve?

Tobias Carstairs, the boy moving in with them soon, was standing behind him in full gear. He looked protective but soft at the same time. The only times he lost that, Isabelle noticed, were the few times that he darted quick glances towards Magnus Bane. The warlock was subdued again, with very little glitter and color in his outfit. It was as if he was trying to match the mood.

Mom and Dad were standing just as stiffly to the side, holding hands and looking at Alec in astonishment at his appearance.

Max suddenly ripped away from their cluster and launched himself towards the group.

"Max!" Isabelle reached out to pull him back, but he was too quick. He wrapped his arms around Alec and squeezed him tightly.

Alec stiffened and gasped audibly into the otherwise silent room. Isabelle was frozen in an outstretched position, her hand gripping air. She held her breath and waited for something to happen, for Alec to scream or for his fragile body to break.

Tobias stepped forward and leaned in to Alec. "It's okay," he soothed. "Alexander, relax, it's okay. Max isn't going to hurt you."

Alec didn't loosen up, even after Max stepped away. Jace ripped himself from Isabelle's grip – she hadn't even realized that she was holding onto him – and slowly approached them. He pushed Max away carefully and smiled with no detectable cockiness.

"Hi, Alexander," he said quietly. "You look better than the other day. How are you feeling?"

Alec ducked his head and his hair, which had been neatly combed, fell in his face. A pink blush tinged his cheeks. "I'm feeling well, thank you, sir. How do you feel?"

"I'm been good, thanks." Isabelle didn't think she had ever heard Jace speak with such gentleness. "You don't have to call me sir, you know."

Alec shot a quick glance at Tobias, who grinned tightly. "He's accustomed to it, Jace," he said for Alec. "He'll adjust soon."

Jace shrugged. "All right, then. Just opening up the invitation for first name basis."

Alec bit his lip and looked around the room shyly. Isabelle felt his gaze settle on her for a few seconds before he diverted it hurriedly.

"Where's Clary?" he asked quietly.

"With her uncle, Luke," Jace said and shrugged. "She said she didn't want to intrude today." He grinned and playfully teased, "I think she's scared of you."

Alec's eyes widened even more, if possible. "That's ridiculous, sir," he blurted out before clamping his free hand over his mouth. "I mean –"

Jace was laughing. "It's fine. I agree with you, actually. But the, uh, other day… I think it shook her a little bit." He sighed. "She said she's staying away from you unless she's got duct tape over her mouth. So, you don't have to worry about those runes bothering you."

Isabelle saw Alec's cheeks flush a deeper red and took a breath. She had to intervene. And soon. Before Jace did _more_damage. With a burst of courage, she crossed the room and plastered a smile on her face.

She not so kindly shoved Jace over a step or two and extended a hand to Alec. "I'm Isabelle," she introduced herself. "I can see the resemblance, can't you?"

Alec had already averted his eyes, but she saw the familiar bright blue from her photo. "Between who, miss?"

"Us," she said. "I'm your sister. And that kid over there is Max, he's our brother." She gestured to the boy, who was still smiling widely. "And this… well, you know this idiot." Jace rolled her eyes and slung his arm over her shoulders.

"It's nice to meet you," Alec murmured. "Is there… is there anyone else to meet?"

Isabelle glanced around the room for a quick check. The Penhallows weren't home, to give them some privacy, so it was really just family. "Mom and Dad," she said and shrugged. "They're over there."

Magnus smiled at Isabelle but didn't address her in any way. He put a hand on Alec's shoulder lightly. "Are you feeling all right? Do you want to sit down? You shouldn't put weight on your knee for this long."

"Bane, I can handle it," Tobias snapped.

Magnus was unperturbed. "Of course you can. Get a chair, will you? I'd summon one but thought I'd give you the chance to feel useful."

The look Tobias sent Magnus could have killed demons.

"Please don't argue again," Alec pleaded wearily. "I can stand. It's okay. I'm fine."

"Alexander –" Tobias began.

"Sir, I'm fine," Alec repeated.

"Blue Eyes –"

"I'm _fine_," Alec snapped. He looked back defiantly for a quick moment, and Isabelle could tell that even Magnus was a little shocked. "_Magnus_."

Magnus's eyebrows rose up. "All right… Alexander, it is."

"Thank you, sir." Alec was back to his former self as he shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Any time, Blue Eyes."

Tobias looked like he was about to pop a vein. "Bane, you are the most aggravating _thing _in the world."

"Did you just intentionally avoid calling me a person?"

"And if I did?"

"_Please!_" Alec jerked his shoulder away from Magnus's grip. "Stop fighting!" They both fell silent with remorseful expressions. Alec wasn't finished though. He didn't turn round, but calmly spoke on. "Apologize to each other, please."

"Alexander –" they protested.

"Please."

They said nothing but glared viciously. Alec opened his eyes and gazed as Isabelle with new interest. "Do they give you headaches, miss?" He gestured vaguely to Max and Jace, who were in a silent pinching war.

Isabelle laughed and nodded. "All the time."

Alec's lips quirked up a tiny bit. "You have a nice laugh," he commented.

Isabelle grinned. "Thank you. I like your eyes." She ignored the fact that they were rimmed with dark bags and that his face was otherwise marred with scars and bruises.

"Thank you." Alec's next breath rattled his shoulders. "I'm not very good at conversation, miss," he apologized. He looked so young and vulnerable. She simply couldn't help herself.

Isabelle decided that her plan could go to hell. She threw her arms around him and held him as tightly as she could without breaking him.

Because she was going to fix him.

No matter what it took.

* * *

Notes: Well, there you go. The Lightwoods meet Alexander! I'm still working on my Robert and Mayrse characterizations, but they'll interact a little next chapter. I feel that they were too nervous themselves to really do anything but stand there and watch their children cross the bridge first. At the very least, we'll have Robert and Alec interaction, perhaps Mayrse and Alec, but I'm not sure where I'm putting that scene... There will be a Magnus central scene in the second half on the next chapter, too, which may be rather exciting (it's exciting to me, at least).

I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter: The Institute and Magnus. Reviews get me through my insanely long weeks and help me scare my original characters into submission - and the more they behave, the more FF I can write. Thanks for reading, bye for now!


	7. Chapter Six

**Title:** Eternally Bound

**Summary:** _Alexander Lightwood was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Now he must free himself and experience life before his runs out._

**Note: **Huge thanks to _harmonized insanity_, who beta-ed this at the speed of lightening when I spent two weeks getting it to her and then another day to post after getting it back. Despite what she thinks, that _wasn't_ a slow beta-ing (Yes, I'm looking at you harmonized).

On that note - sorry for taking so long. Writer's block on the first half of this chapter killed me and then school hammered down yet again. But once I got the second half going, I sped through it and finished the entire chapter in two days (I had to go back and fill in the first scene, but I had tremendous fun with the second). And this chapter, you get my version of a _happy_ lemon - which is really the instant powdery lemonade mix _before_ it's mixed with water (as it's been described by a friend). Slightly reminiscent of Calls and Closets, if you've read that (if you haven't check it out - my first Malec fic ever, and prior to this fic, my most popular. Yes, shameless self promotion). Speaking of CoC - the review count has beat it. That was my most reviewed fic for such a long time. Go record setting! I'm shocked at the response this is getting so _thank you_ to all my readers and reviewers. I appreciate you so much, and I really hope you can continue to enjoy this fic.

**Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does.**

* * *

_Chapter Six_

Alexander felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when he followed Robert into a white room.

"This is your room," he said quietly and stepped aside.

It was a large room, but Alexander had been in bedrooms this size. It wasn't as large as Jonathan's had been, but it was certainly bigger than his own and the cell combined. All the furniture and bedding was white to match the walls. He had to blink a few times to avoid being blinded. Sunshine filtered through thin white curtains.

The splash of color across the bed was what caught his attention and took his breath.

A worn, frayed blanket was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. It was a baby blue and clearly once loved, though it had a clean iron pressed look to it. A large square was cut out of the corner that Alexander could see.

He knew what that was.

"My blanket," he whispered in awe. He hadn't spoken much since meeting his family – his siblings were very skilled at filling up the silences by themselves. He and Robert had an uncomfortable conversational relationship that was filled with long pauses and awkwardly phrased sentences. Alexander, as always, preferred to answer questions instead of ask them. Apparently, Robert preferred the same.

However, he quirked an eyebrow and smiled uneasily. "You remember that old thing? Jace found it in one of our storage rooms and Izzy insisted we put it in here."

"I used to have a little piece of it that I carried in my pocket," Alexander said, slightly astonished as the memory came flooding back. "I… I had it during the fire. It was the only thing I had." He limped forward, leaning heavily on his cane. The bed was pushed against the wall, and so seemed an impossibly far distance with his dully throbbing knee. It was no matter though – he had endured more serious injuries and continued with his work. This was nothing.

The dull itchiness under his skin, though, was getting on his last nerve.

Robert laughed a little bit when Alexander finished speaking. "Your mother tried to wash it once and you had a fit. I'm not surprised you had it with you then. If Hell was breaking loose and sending forth demons, you would have toddled through the horde without a weapon for that square."

Alexander suspected that Robert was exaggerating on his love for the blanket a bit, but he smiled as sincerely as he could and said, "I would, sir?"

He didn't turn around, but he could feel Robert's smile fall. "Definitely. You were an odd toddler. I think. Very mature. You were only three but you were very well behaved. So quiet." He sighed. "I suppose that's why we didn't notice when you slipped off to nap that night."

Alexander shuddered and scratched at the hand holding the cane. He didn't recall most of the night, not the kidnapping certainly, but sometimes he dreamed about the flames.

Fire frightened Alexander more than almost anything except Jonathan. He knew that, facing flames or Valentine's rage, he'd choose the rage in a heartbeat. He'd watched flames lick up the sides of the house and distort wood and glass and cloth, he's watched it consume everything in its path. Even while making fires in the fireplace, he was cautious and nervous.

Alexander stroked the blanket reminiscently. It was soft and silky under his fingertips. He didn't think he'd ever touched anything like it apart from skin, and the difference was that he liked this touch.

"Alec?" Robert said quietly. Alexander blinked before realizing that he was being addressed. Everyone was calling him that nickname, a nickname he wasn't even aware existed. He almost preferred Blue Eyes, however much the warlock liked to annoy him with it. It was admittedly excellent incentive to cut out the "sirs" in their conversation, no matter how awkward it made Alexander feel.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you hungry? Tired? You – you probably shouldn't have been putting your weight on that leg all morning."

"It's fine, sir," he murmured. In all honesty, his leg wasn't bothering him at all anymore. His throat felt scratchy and his hand was itchier than before. They were absolutely taking over his senses. "I'd just –" He cleared his throat. "I'd just like a glass of water, sir, please." His mouth was suddenly dry and he couldn't understand why. He was sure a small drink would cure it, though.

"Of course," Robert said and leaned out into the hallway. "Isabelle! Get a glass of water for Alec, please!"

Her heels thumped out of a room down the hall. "Okay!" she chirped.

Alexander smiled. He liked his sister. She was quirky and crazy and downright the oddest person he had met besides Magnus, but – well, after meeting Magnus, he was sure he could deal with anyone. The only problem with Isabelle was her disposition to_touch_. She was never shy about simply coming up behind him and giving a bone breaking hug that caused him to yelp in surprise and occasionally fall over. Since the time he fell off the bed, she was more careful, but not more gentle. At least, he always forced himself to think, it was all in good meaning.

"You can trust her in the kitchen?" Jace's shout followed. Alexander had resigned himself to the fact that _he _would always be loud.

"Oh, shut up!" was Isabelle's only reply and he heard her flight down the stairs.

Jace wasn't what he expected the Other One to be like, but he also wasn't _not _what Alexander expected. He couldn't explain it, even if he was permitted. The itch inched up to the runes and he scratched that too, despite the area still being highly sensitive. He sat down on the bed, still stroking the blanket, and tried to put his thoughts into words for himself.

Jace was arrogant and held himself similarly to Jonathan. As both were raised as sons of Valentine, it was only to be expected. He often boasted of being the best Shadowhunter of their age, but Alexander had yet to see him train. No matter how good he was, it was doubtful that he surpassed Jonathan. Alexander had dodged too many bullets – or knives, in this case – to be able to say otherwise about the boy's skill.

They had the same sly smile, the same dangerous glint in their eyes, the same slinky movements that allowed him to sneak and trap and capture.

But, unlike Jonathan who was trapped in the house with only one victim to hunt, Jace clearly had better things to do, more dangerous demons to test his sleuth on than Alexander.

And unlike Jonathan, when he smiled it wasn't always cold. It was sometimes warm and friendly, and when he laughed it was genuine and even made Alexander smile a bit.

And, most shockingly, unlike Jonathan, his eyes held something more than disgust and contempt. They held fear and memories. He didn't flinch when Isabelle raised a hand for a high five (Tobias had explained how they worked and Alexander still didn't quite understand). His eyes had simply darkened, as if he remembered a time when he had.

Alexander decided that the Other One was a bit more like him than he would have thought.

The short, black haired boy with glasses came running to the doorway with a glass filled to the brim. "Izzy told me to bring this to Alec." Max was carefully balancing the water with every step. Alexander pulled himself up and took a few steps to close the distance. Even with his running tackle display, Max was extremely shy compared to his siblings and tiptoed around Alexander constantly. True to form, as soon as Alexander relieved him of the glass, he bolted.

Alexander watched him go with a slight frown. "He doesn't like me much, sir," he commented after he took a small sip.

Robert shook his head and laughed. "That's just Max. Give him a few days to warm up to you." Alexander doubted this would work.

"Will Tobias be here soon, sir?" he asked into the silence. Tobias had travelled separately from the family in order to wrap up business in Idris. He reportedly had to visit a niece of his in another Institute as well, so he was taking his sweet time.

"Not until later," Robert admitted with a sad grin. "I know how much you two get along. He's a good friend. I'm glad to have him around, even if Maryse isn't."

Alexander gulped. Maryse was frightening. He couldn't ever remember having a mother figure, but from what Jonathan said, mothers were supposed to be kind and sweet and gentle (at least that's what the books that he read claimed). But Maryse had an iron fist. She had yet to do anything but frown or smile tearfully towards him, but he saw the looks she gave the other children when they misbehaved. And he wasn't oblivious to the glares she focused on Magnus and Tobias – even more intense than the glares they gave each other.

"Oh." He set the glass on the dresser and hobbled back to the bed. "Well. He's very nice, sir. He… He found me. I think. I don't remember clearly, I just… Well, I was beginning my vomiting stage." He felt a hot surge rush to his cheeks. Just the other day, the nausea had disappeared without medication. Alexander was elated, but also dreading what would come next – surely something would come next.

"We're all glad you're feeling better," Robert said warmly. "Do you want me to go and let you get some rest?"

The burning in his face increased. "Oh no, sir, you don't have to -"

"It's fine, Alec," Robert assured him, but it didn't work.

Without meaning to, words tumbled out of his mouth. "Please, could you call me Alexander?" He clapped a hand over his offending lips. "I mean – never mind, sir, never mind."

Robert's forehead crinkled like he was thinking. "Oh, of course, Alec – Alexander, I mean. I… I'll spread the word." He looked confused. "May I ask why?"

Alexander looked away, embarrassed. "It's nothing, sir."

"You can tell me," Robert insisted, stepping forward. "Really."

"It's nothing, I just –" Alexander groaned. His brain and the words just weren't cooperating. "It's just… all my life, everything I know has been… wrong. What I've known about my family, what I've known about life, everything that's been done to me is apparently… wrong. Alexander is my name, though, and that's always been right." He shrugged, feeling like a fool. "That's all, sir."

Robert watched him for a moment with the Pity Look that Alexander had received too many times to count. "We can certainly call you Alexander," he whispered and nodded. Something was wrong with his voice, as if he was about to cry. Alexander watched him back, concerned, and bunched up the blanket in his hand. It was bizarrely comforting after fifteen years. "What happened to your square?" Robert asked suddenly, his voice back to normal.

Alexander blinked and tried to figure out what he was referring to. "My blanket square, sir?" Robert nodded. Alexander shrugged and bit his lip. "Burned. After about a week of me asking for the full blanket, he burned almost every blanket in the house including the square. I got over it." Even though he was only three, he could picture the crackling fire and charred blankets. It was his first punishment in the Morgenstern household. Valentine wouldn't replace his blanket for weeks.

Alexander knew what it was like to be cold.

He still wouldn't go near that fire.

* * *

Magnus's eyes were felt like they were going to burn out of their sockets.

He groaned and rubbed his eyelids in an attempt to rid them of their soreness. It didn't help.

The words on the page before him were beginning to look like a blur of black ink. He couldn't comprehend them anymore. Then again, there was little in this situation that he ___could_comprehend.

There was absolutely no excuse for a man who was willing to torment a person like this. Alexander was so young, so innocent. It sickened Magnus to think of what horrors he had encountered.

Shadowhunters may be Shadowhunters, and they may come across some dreadful things during their adolescence. But Magnus knew that any Nephilim would think twice, think thrice, think a multitude of times, before ever laying a harmful hand to one of their own. Valentine was a twisted man, Magnus was sure of that.

Under most circumstances, Magnus would have relied on Alexander's youth to aid his recovery. With so much time left in the boy's life, it would have been logical. But now, that time was severely dwindled and Magnus simply didn't know what to do.

"This doesn't make sense," he mumbles tiredly to himself and rested his forehead on the spell book. "His symptoms aren't here, the potion doesn't _exist!_"

"But I do." The quiet voice from the doorway startled Magnus. He jumped and twisted around in his seat to grin at the tall figure.

"When did you get here?" He pushed back his chair from the desk and stood, straightening out his rumpled clothes.

She stepped forward and allowed some of the light from the desk lamp to illuminate her features. Her green eyes showed mild amusement, but Magnus knew better than to believe that she was happy with him. "Four hours ago, Magnus. You haven't moved from your desk."

Magnus's jaw dropped and he checked his jewel encrusted watch. "Four _hours_?" It felt like he had only sat down for thirty minutes.

She nodded. "I've been here since sunset, and you were already there."

Magnus blinked the blurriness out of his vision once and for all. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Crap. I'm sorry, Camille, really. I completely forgot that you were coming over and – Oh no. I didn't feed Meow!" He headed towards the door, but Camille grabbed him by the wrist.

She pulled him back with one small tug. Her skin was cool and shockingly pale against his tan arm. "You care more for the cat than me," she said in monotone. She stared at him as if she was daring him to deny it.

Magnus laughed and slipped his arm out of her grasp. He bent in to kiss her gently and rested his hands on her hips. "Of course not," he assured her. "But if Meow doesn't eat, then he'll interrupt us when I'm showing you how much I _care_." He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and planted a deeper kiss on her lips.

She pushed him away too quickly for Magnus's taste. "I fed Meow," she said.

Magnus sighed and stepped back. He slammed a few of the books shut and shoved papers into drawers. "Way to kill the moment, Cammie."

"Cammie?" Camille sounded disgusted as she echoed the nickname.

Magnus wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, you're right. It doesn't fit you. How about Cam Cam? Cutie? Honey buns?"

She was laughing by now. "Magnus!"

He turned around and shook his head sternly. "Your pet name can't be Magnus. That would be weird. Imagine us in bed, me being my magnificent sexy self, getting you all hot and bothered and then I lean in and whisper in your ear –"

"All right, that's quite enough." Camille grinned and closed the distance between them to cup Magnus's face in her hands. "You are incredible, Magnus Bane. I wonder why I put up with you sometimes."

He grinned back and shrugged. "I'm just saying how awkward it would be to start moaning my own name when it gets good. I'd rather _you _be the one going 'Don't stop, Magnus, don't –'"

He was cut short when Camille practically threw herself on top of him. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't actually seen his girlfriend since he returned to New York. The phone calls hadn't been anywhere near enough to sate the urge that had him holding her closer and grabbing in places that most respectable women would have slapped him for.

Not that Camille wasn't perfectly respectable, of course. They just had a lot of experience with one another. He knew exactly what he could get away with and what he couldn't.

He was the one that pulled back this time, breathing heavily while she didn't breathe at all. "I missed you, babe." They were sitting in his desk chair, though Magnus couldn't remember when they had ended up in this somewhat promiscuous position. He figured it was around the time they had begun their somewhat promiscuous make out.

Apparently, that was something he couldn't get away with. Camille stood up and fixed her skirt with a roll of the eyes. "Babe? Where do you pick these things up? The mundanes?"

Magnus got to his feet and kicked the rolling chair backwards. It banged into the wall with a satisfying _thud _that simultaneously made him cringe about the damage it might have done to the new paint job. "Well, as I happen to like modern television and movies, and I also like to interact with people –"

"Eavesdropping on mundanes' conversations isn't interaction."

"- I do tend to pick things up. Like babe. What, you don't like it?" He knew she could care less for mundane slang, but it was too fun to bait her. He watched Camille wrinkle her nose in the most dignified way possible.

"No, I don't." She crossed her arms and slid away when Magnus tried to embrace her again.

Magnus sighed. It was time to get his old time courting techniques out of storage. He fixed his clothes, stood straight, and offered her a hand like a gentleman. "Very well, Lady Belcourt. I'll remember to address you properly from hereon forth." A slight London accent tainted his words.

A grin curled Camille's luscious red lips and revealed her pearl white teeth. She took his hand daintily and stepped closer. "You will do good to remember that, Master Bane, if you would like to remain in my favor."

He kissed her knuckles chastely and bowed. "Of course, my lady." He began to lead her towards the office door, and strived to remember what they had done in the beginnings of their on and off relationship – before the sex started, at least. "What would you like to do tonight? A stroll in the park? Perhaps a night at the club?" He dropped the act – accent and all – and twirled her around. Her hips swayed seductively and she continued to walk tauntingly away. Her pale leg peeked out of the thigh high slit in her long black skirt.

Magnus followed her out of the room and placed his hands on her shoulders lightly. "How about we go to a movie and make out like horny teenagers in the back row?"

Even though her back was to him, Magnus could practically see Camille rolling her eyes. She turned slowly and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her sweet breath landed on Magnus's face and he swore that he wasn't in control of his actions when his hand found its way up her skirt. It was all her fault anyway. It's not like she was oblivious to what she did to him.

"You've been working all day," she whispered into his ear. "So I have an idea."

"We get bloody drunk?" Camille raised an eyebrow and he shrugged, "I miss England, sometimes."

She shook her head, laughing. "No, we stay one hundred percent sober tonight."

Magnus didn't even try to hide a pout. He pressed his body against hers more securely. "But I _like _it when we get drunk together."

She disregarded his comment. She probably thought he was already drinking. "You are going to lock up that office until your girlfriend has left. Then that girlfriend is going to make you something to eat. And then you are going to clean yourself up and take a shower." She slinked out of his grip and put her hands on her hips. "And if you're good, that girlfriend might join you."

Magnus bit his lip and regarded her carefully. "_You're _going to cook for me?" He paused as realization flooded through him. "Oh my God, you fed Meow! Is he okay? Do I need to take him to the vet? Where is he?"

Camille threw her hands up in the air and stalked off to the kitchen. "You're not earning your company!" she yelled and Magnus hurried to follow.

"Of course I am," he said and jumped onto the counter. He swung his legs and leaned back carefully to avoid knocking over the knives and wine bottle behind him. "We all know that the more you're mad at me, the more you'll want sex, and then the better it'll be."

Camille sighed and opened the refrigerator. "What if I told you that I didn't want sex tonight?"

Magnus frowned. "I'd make a lot of innuendos, because I'm _seriously _in the mood, but otherwise, we could just do couple-y stuff. Non-sexual couple-y stuff, I mean. Really, the offer for the movie or the stroll or something still stands." With her inquisitive glance, he added, "But we can take out the make outs in the movie, if you want. We can see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix."

Camille rummaged through the freezer contents for a few seconds before she found a frozen pizza and laid it on the counter. "Didn't we see that two weeks ago?"

Magnus shrugged. "I missed the entire battle scene except for the part where Daniel Radcliffe had some sort of seizure. You distracted me." He snapped his fingers and the oven knob turned to the correct temperature. "Sorry, darling, I'd rather you not burn it."

Camille ignored him and unwrapped the pizza in one graceful movement. "How long does this cook?"

"Ten minutes or so?" Magnus estimated.

Camille nodded and set the timer after she shoved the pizza onto one of the racks. "Do you think that's enough time for a good shower?"

Magnus frowned. "Wait – so you ___do_want to have sex tonight?"

Camille laughed and ran her hand down the front of his shirt. "Why wouldn't I?" she whispered and dragged him to stand on the floor with her. Their hips ground together and Magnus's fingers tangled in her curls. She planted a trail of kisses along his neck that left his skin burning despite her icy feel. He struggled to detach one hand from Camille for just a moment, and then flicked his wrist towards the oven.

The oven clicked off and Magnus's mouth found Camille's in the feverish frenzy. There was no way that they'd be done in time for the pizza.

Well, he thought so. Camille left him gasping for air a moment later. He held onto the counter for support while she glided across the kitchen towards the toaster. She leaned down and repaired her hair in the reflection. "Of course, considering the amount of times you've kept me waiting in the past few days, maybe we shouldn't."

He couldn't help whining. "But _Camille -"_

She turned the oven on again and adjusted her red shirt so it hugged her curves perfectly. "You wouldn't pressure me, would you?" She raised her eyebrows daringly. "You wouldn't try to make me if I said no, right?"

Magnus suddenly felt sick at the insinuations. "Of course not." He stared into her deep green eyes for a few seconds, thinking about naïve Alexander who had been forced to do things he had never wanted. "Damn it, Camille, you just killed my sex drive for the next _month_."

She set her lips into a straight line and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. "I apologize. But please tell me how that killed your sex drive? Because I was under the belief that I only fuelled it." She gave a pointed look to his crotch and Magnus collapsed into the chair beside her, too annoyed to be flustered.

"I just thought about Alexander," he mumbled and buried his head in his arms.

Camille made a discontented noise. "You know that I really don't care who you sleep with when we're not together, but it doesn't exactly _comfort _me to know that you're thinking of some man in that way when I'm standing right here." She looked away fleetingly before raising her head to meet his eyes. "So, what bar did you meet at and how long do I have until you're cheating again?"

Magnus gasped at her accusations, but gagged on his own saliva. "Camille, Alexander is my new _patient_! The Lightwood boy!" He coughed a few times to clear his airways. "The case I've been working on! There's no way – I didn't – I wasn't thinking about him in ___that_way. Jeez. Do you really have such little faith in me?"

Camille crossed her arms over her bosom. "You've never been one to hold back your advances when you're interested," she said delicately.

Magnus sighed and grabbed her hand. "How many times have we been over this? I'm with you. I'm not going to cheat on you."

"Again," she interjected swiftly.

Magnus shut his eyes and winced. "Again," he amended. "The last time I cheated on you was over fifty years ago. I'm not going to do it again."

Camille didn't take her hand away, but she didn't respond when he squeezed hers gently. "He was _married_, Magnus."

"It was a mistake. I'm not allowed to slip up every once in a while? I'm over eight hundred, I think that one mistake per decade is permissible." She was silent and Magnus groaned. "I can't believe you're still holding that grudge."

"You ruined a marriage and you cheated on me! Aren't ___I_allowed to be angry when I find out you've been fantasizing about others?" Camille turned a threatening glare onto him and Magnus backed away.

"Whoa!" He held up his hands with his palms facing her. "I have ___not_been fantasizing about anyone besides you, Camille! And I don't think you have a right to be criticizing. What about the One Month Stand Debacle of 1962? That time where you met a guy at a bar and cheated on me one night, and then the next, and then the next, and then the next –"

"I broke up with him and came clean, Magnus," Camille snapped. "I admitted I was cheating on you! ___You_let me walk in on you two screwing each other in ___my_bed!"

Magnus reddened at the reminder. "Shut up or get out," he muttered. "I'm in a crappy mood. Alexander –"

"That boy again!"

Magnus couldn't take it anymore. He clenched his jaw and glared at her viciously. "Alexander is a scared little boy who is _dying_, and all I'm trying to do is save his life. I have ___no_feelings for him, I barely _know _him."

"You've never cared much about knowing them before," Camille said bitterly. She stood up and turned away to check on the pizza. "You're always so overtaken by their beauty that you forget I even exist."

Quiet tension rose between them. Magnus couldn't deny that she was entirely wrong about the beauty part. He did happen to appreciate a good looking guy or girl, and sometimes he let go of his reservations. But he also thought twice before doing anything when he was dating Camille.

"He's not beautiful," he murmured honestly. It was confusing – his memory kept showing him those gorgeous blue eyes and warm, blushing skin, but he knew better than to think of him as stunning. He wasn't. "He could be, but… He's broken. The boy's been scarred, mentally and physically. You know how I am with that kind of stuff. I can't handle it."

Camille didn't face him, but he watched her muscles relax. "You never could," she agreed. "And he's a Lightwood," she added, sounding a little more confident. "They're the most uptight Shadowhunting family I've met. He's probably straight as a stick."

Magnus laughed and approached her slowly. "There we go. You've got nothing to worry about. Alexander is my patient. Not only would any sort of relationship be highly inappropriate and likely traumatizing after what he's dealt with, but I've got you."

Camille spun around and closed the distance with a step. "I'm sorry," she muttered. Magnus wrapped his arms around her in an embrace and she melted into him. "I shouldn't have assumed… It's just – you've been around so little since he was found and – it reminds me of then."

Magnus bent in to kiss her softly. "I've missed you." He moved his lips against hers as he spoke.

"I've missed you, too." She allowed a few inches between them and twisted his arm up to check his watch. "I ought to go soon," she said sadly.

Magnus checked his watch. "It's only one! The night's barely started!"

Camille laughed. "The sun rises early in the summer, Magnus," she reminded him. "And the coven expects me back before sunrise. If I'm not, _Raphael _gets command until I return, and _then _they'll all murder me."

Magnus snorted. He knew Raphael and had never liked the brat. "Why don't you just get rid of him? Nobody likes him much… I doubt they'd mind…"

"Oh, hush!" She nudged him sharply with her elbow. "He's not so bad once you get to know him. He's just a little… pretentious, sometimes. He lets power get to his head very easily. It's not hard to live with him, just hard to allow him to be in charge."

An idea struck Magnus and he gathered some of Camille's shirt in his hands. "Move in with me," he said forcefully and yanked her closer.

Her expression was confused, but her eyes betrayed her emotions when they lit up in delight. "_What?_"

"Move in with me." Her sleeve slipped off her shoulder and Magnus pushed it down further. "Come live here. We don't have to worry about not seeing each other often and," he began to nuzzle her neck, "We'll have more time for this."

It was a satisfying moment when Camille gasped. It was rare to elicit an audible reaction out of her in any circumstance, let alone one that they'd been in so many times. "I'll bring my things tomorrow night," she said and Magnus felt the waistband of his jeans loosen with her touch.

"Here?" he whispered, fully aware that she didn't actually care ___where_despite her usual fuss about PDA. They'd done it almost everywhere he could think of. The kitchen certainly wouldn't be new. They were even in the best spot. She answered silently – with one hand, she tugged his zipper open and with the other, she pulled her shirt over her head.

Oh, yeah. _Here_. And now.

Magnus was beginning to think of it as a very productive night. Worked all day, had his girlfriend come over, made out, fought, made up, invited her to move in, and now they were on their way to having inevitable make up sex.

And all in less than twenty minutes.

He had his hand splayed out flat against her smooth, cool stomach while the other travelled up her back, towards her bra hooks. She was still working his pants over his legs – damn, skinny jeans were not a good idea for the night – but didn't seem to mind much.

An annoying beeping startled Magnus. He gasped and pulled back quickly, leaving a trail of spit between them. "Seriously, I have to wake up _now_? Damn alarm clock… damn dream…" he muttered.

Camille laughed and he blinked, somewhat startled to realize that she was still in his arms. "It's the oven, you idiot."

"Oh. Right." Magnus glanced towards the stove and registered the wafting smell of pizza. His hunger spiked a little, but subsided when he looked back at Camille. "Let's let it burn."

And then the phone rang shrilly.

Chairman Meow came bursting into the room, _mrowling _and darting between their legs. He got tangled in Camille's shirt, which was lying on the ground, and Magnus sighed. "Dumb cat, it's just the phone," he muttered and pulled up his jeans.

Camille shook the little fur ball out of her shirt and slipped it on as she went towards the phone. Magnus snapped and turned off the oven before he summoned the pizza out and let it sit on the counter to cool.

"This is Camille Belcourt, who may I ask is calling?" Camille tapped her nails on the phone and frowned as she listened. Magnus was slow to button his jeans as he watched her. "Hm. Yes. He's right here. Just a moment." She brought the phone away from her ear and covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "It's Robert Lightwood," she informed him coldly. "Something about his son."

Magnus's eyes widened and he grabbed the phone from her. "Bane speaking. What's the problem? Is Alexander all right?"

Robert sounded flustered. "He's got this really bad rash, all over his body. It's splotchy and red. He said it's… it's itchy. We're trying to stop him from scratching it, but the skin is extremely dry and some of it looks like it's… it's peeling, I think."

Magnus sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That sounds painful." He started mentally preparing what he'd need to bring to the Lightwoods.

"From what he told Tobias, it is. But he asked for you. He won't let us near him. Not even Toby. But he said if we called you, that you could come and help. Well, not in so many words, he's out of it and his mouth is too dry to really make too many sounds, but that's what we inferred."

Magnus pushed aside his urge to comment on Carstairs. "His mouth is dry? Is he dehydrated?"

"We think so. We're giving him fluids, but they don't seem to be working." Robert sounded more concerned with every statement. "It started this afternoon, but we didn't think it was too bad until a little while ago. He was just a little itchy and thirsty. Do you think it's part of the poison? He hasn't been vomiting anymore, maybe…?"

"The symptoms change as time wears on," Magnus finished and sighed. That was exactly what he was dreading. "It sounds like it could be."

"Are there any cures?"

Camille had stalked out of the room silently as soon as he said "Alexander," but Magnus watched her lay down on the couch in a comfortable manner. He shook his head, determined to stay focused on this even though his girlfriend's shirt was all out of place and showing more cleavage than it was supposed to. "Seeing as I still don't know what the potion is, I don't know. But I'll treat his symptoms as well as I can."

Robert sighed in resigned relief. "Thank you."

"It's coming out of your pocket," Magnus reminded him. "I'll be over soon." He hung without a goodbye and dropped the phone beside the untouched pizza. "Camille?"

"You're going. I know."

Magnus zipped up his jeans and summoned all his supplies to the kitchen table while he walked over to Camille. "I was going to say I love you," he said and bent over to kiss her. She turned her head and he got her cheek instead of her lips. Magnus shook his head. "You're really a jealous bitch sometimes," he commented.

Camille gazed up at him seriously. "I love you, too. Even though you sometimes prioritize cats and teenage boys over me." She pushed herself up and dragged him in by his collar for a kiss.

Despite this, Magnus left the apartment with an aching heart and seriously screwed up head.

On the bright side, the make up sex for this fight was bound to be good.

* * *

Note: Don't kill me for the Magnille. I've sort of temporarily fallen in love with them. And... that scene was fun. I'm toying with the idea of writing a few Magnille oneshots on the side, perhaps in this universe, perhaps out of it, because they're admittedly hot. I can't wait to see how they REALLY interact in COFA, but until then, I'll have my little slice of heaven. Writing that scene reminded me a little of writing my first Malec fic, Calls and Closets... I got very nostalgic. Writing a new couple (for me) in a situation like that seems to do that to me. It was interesting. I hadn't expected them to fight that much, but I suppose it just sets the ground for them. But it's important to remember that they _do_ love each other. They've been in this relationship on and off for over a century - the fact that they keep coming back to each other must mean something, right?

Well, we'll see what happens next chapter with Alexander and perhaps a continuation of the drama hat is Magnille? I'm not sure, I've slacked on my outline. I'll try to get this chapter out sooner (and I'll try to reply to your reviews quickly this time! I won't get a chance for last chaspter's reviews until later or tomorrow, but it WILL get done!)

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are love.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Title:** Eternally Bound

**Summary:** _Alexander Lightwood was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Now he must free himself and experience life before his runs out._

**Note:** I have no excuse for this wait. Really, truly, no excuse. I mean, school and work really. But that's no excuse for the cliffy I left you with. But hey... It's out in time for COFA! (I haven't gotten it yet, I'm dying!) A big thanks to _Calliope Sparkle_, who sent me a PM who really kicked my butt into shape and made me finish this chapter. I'd been working steadily, but, er, slowly. It's unbeta-ed, at least for now, so I apologize for any mistakes!

Oh and those of you who expressed dislike for Magnille - I know end game. And it's not Magnille. Just keep that in mind, guys, kay? :) Favors for Malec, Toblec, and Jalec fans this chapter - see if you catch em.

**Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does.**

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

Alexander sighed and leaned his cheek into Magnus's hand while Carstairs tipped the vial into his mouth. His physical state looked atrocious, but Magnus was sure he felt better. As soon as he began spreading the thick yellow paste over the rash, Alexander's entire body relaxed. The potion was meant to hydrate him, and then he'd be on the road to recovery.

The room, which originally contained Magnus, Carstairs, Robert, and the sickly boy, now held the entire Lightwood family, including the cat. Magnus tried to brush off their stares and focus on his work.

Alexander moaned and suddenly twisted from Magnus's soft touch.

"Sh," he murmured. "It's okay. We're helping you." Magnus glanced at Carstairs and gestured towards the thickly padded binds. The Shadowhunter got the message and began to rewrap Alexander's wrists.

The boy protested incoherently and Magnus's heart clenched. "It's for your own good, Alexander." He spread the paste on the boy's face a little thinner, but not sheer enough to see the peeling rash. "So you don't scratch yourself."

He kicked out weakly at the air and groaned. This time, Magnus was able to decipher a few words from his garbled, cracking speech. "Hurts – _no – let __go, please, don't –"_

Carstairs froze in the middle of sealing the Velcro and stared at Magnus with concern. "Should we –"

"Finish," Magnus ordered. "He won't thank us, but his health will."

"But what if he's having flashbacks?"

Magnus pulled his hand away and wiped it clean of the yellow gook on a towel. "I'll put him to sleep. It'll take a little while for the ointment to really kick in."

"Will it heal him?" Robert asked. He, Mayrse, Isabelle, and Jace were in the far corner. Only Church and Max sat any closer, both huddled on the floor in the middle of the room. Max had lost interest by the time they finished coating Alexander's torso and was playing with a little wooden soldier. Apparently, Church was the demon in the fight. A big, furry, blue Person cat shaped demon.

"It'll take the itch away," Magnus admitted. "Not much more. I have some cream that might heal some of the skin, but he'll have to apply it daily." He turned to face the family. "Actually, he'll have to apply both of them daily until it goes away. If the dehydration keeps up – which it may – I'll give you a good supply of that potion as well."

Mayrse frowned and craned her neck to see Alexander properly. "Is it the poison?"

Magnus shrugged. "I assume so. I've never heard of someone being dehydrated so quickly in this sort of environment, especially when they must have had…" He glanced around at all the water bottles and glasses in the room. "At least a gallon of water. Probably more." He glanced at the still squirming boy. "I wonder how badly he has to pee."

Carstairs huffed. "Can we get him redressed before he becomes fully conscious? We don't need him having a panic attack when he wakes up."

Magnus checked his watch. "We've got at least twenty minutes until he wakes up completely, he'll be fine."

The next sound that came out of Alexander's mouth was an inhuman moan. "Toby," he croaked. He opened his eyes and looked around the room, disoriented.

"Or maybe twenty seconds," Magnus corrected quietly.

Carstairs clenched his jaw but took Alexander's bound hand. "Hey, kid, I'm right here. How're you feeling?"

Alexander blinked a few times. "Gooey." He blinked again. "Why?"

Magnus tossed Carstairs the towel, and he wiped off his own hands. "We've been putting this gunk on you for at least a half hour. It's going to help with the rash."

Alexander frowned. "The rash…" He groaned and shut his eyes again. "It's _itchy."_

"But not as itchy as before, right?" Magnus asked. That was the important part, to make sure he was doing his job right.

Alexander's eyes flew open and the hazy gaze landed on the warlock. "Magnus?"

"Morning, Blue Eyes. Are you as itchy as before? Do you remember?"

His eyelids fluttered shut. "Not sparkly. No colors."

Magnus wrinkled his forehead and stared at the boy. He was talking absolute nonsense, and he hadn't even been given any medication that would make him loopy. "Sparkles? Colors?" Magnus caught his own reflection in the mirror across the room and the realization hit him. "Oh, me? No, I didn't get all dolled up today, darling. I worked until my girlfriend tore me away. We had some plans tonight." He ruffled Alexander's hair gently, almost afraid that he was crossing some unseen boundary. "Thanks to you, we rescheduled. I think." He hadn't talked to Camille since he left the apartment, though he called and texted her the entire time he was traveling. She ignored each one.

"Oh." Alexander licked his lips. "Not so itchy anymore."

"How about thirsty?" Carstairs had slipped into the bathroom to fill up one of the several glasses of water. "Are you thirsty?"

Alexander shook his head. "No, sir. Not thirsty."

Magnus finally felt his muscles relax. "It worked, then. Both the treatments." He wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "Thank God. Blue Eyes, please tell me this won't happen _every two weeks?"_

Alexander bit his lip. "I don't know, sir."

Magnus didn't expect anything else. "That's all right. Don't worry about it." He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. "Hold on, I should probably take this." He flipped open his phone, already aware of who it was. "Hold on, babe, just two seconds."

Camille sighed on the other end. "All right."

Magnus slipped past the Lightwoods, careful not to step on Max or his toy. Isabelle grabbed his hand as he passed and squeezed gently.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Magnus squeezed back and returned a weak smile. He didn't know how to break it to her – that he hadn't done anything but make the boy comfortable for the time being, that he hadn't cured him.

He left the door open a few inches and blinked at the phone, hesitating. Then he lifted it to his ear again. "Hey. Camille, look, I –"

"ImsorryMagnusIshouldnthave."

There was a pause. "_What?"_

"I'm sorry," she said slower. "I shouldn't have accused you of cheating. It was out of line and…" She trailed off. "You're right, I am a jealous bitch."

Magnus tried to process what he was hearing. "I shouldn't have said that," he said quietly. "Even if it's sometimes true, I shouldn't have said that."

He could almost see Camille nodding. "Well… yes. Are you still there?"

"Yes," Magnus said and glanced through the door. Isabelle and Jace had lost their inhibitions and were sitting on Alexander's bed. Izzy was chatting her mouth off, interrupting Carstairs and Alexander every time they opened their mouths. Jace just laughed and messed up Alexander's hair while he advised him to just keep quiet. Mayrse stood behind Jace and stared at the yellow patches of paste over Alexander's body. "I just finished treating him."

"Oh. Is he going to be all right?"

"He'll be fine." Magnus checked his watch. "Listen, babe, I know you're probably back with the coven, but –"

"I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm home. I'm going to bed soon, though." Camille's voice was soft and hesitant when she added, "I wanted to hear your voice before I slept."

"Home?" Magnus repeated dumbly. "You mean – my apartment?"

"Our apartment," Camille corrected. "You invited me, did you not?"

A grin broke out across Magnus's lips. "Really? I thought you'd change your mind after tonight – and – I'll be home soon, I promise."

"Take your time," she urged. "Make sure he's all drugged up or whatever it is you need to do. I don't want the Lightwood boy interrupting us until it's absolutely necessary." There was a short pause. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Good day. Sleep well."

Camille laughed. "I always do when it's your bed. Of course, it'll be a little different without you here… Meow, off the bed!" Magnus heard her snap at the cat. "Off! I feed you _once and you decide that I'm your new pet?"_

"Just pick him up and throw him out," Magnus suggested. "Shut the door though. And ignore him if he scratches at it. He's a diva."

"I wonder where he learned it," Camille said sardonically.

"The best, darling, the best."

"Bane!" Carstairs yelled. "Get in here!"

Magnus sighed. "Gotta go."

"Good day." Camille hung up and Magnus snapped his phone shut.

"I'm not a servant," he spat while he passed Robert. "Don't speak to me like I am." He stopped next to Alexander, whose hair was sticking in a million directions due to Jace's affections. "Are you okay, Blue Eyes? These psychos rubbing off on you yet?"

Alexander looked at him with big eyes. "Are you leaving?"

Magnus frowned. "I – well, my girlfriend is waiting – I'll be back later, if you'd like. You should get some rest." He let a few sparks from his fingers land on Alexander's forehead.

Alexander flinched slightly and looked down. "Thank you, sir. For… the –"

"Don't." Magnus put up a hand. "Please don't. It's my job. I want you to be as healthy as possible."

Jace broke the ringing silence that ensued. "You have a _girlfriend?"_

Magnus narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

"That's actually a _girl?"_

"Jace!" Mayrse scolded. "Be polite!"

Jace put up his hands in front of him in defense. "Look, just – look!" He gestured to Magnus wildly, who let a smug smile stretch across his lips. He knew this moment would come eventually with the Lightwoods – he just didn't realize the reaction would be so comical. "How was I supposed to assume that he was straight? He hit on me!"

Magnus's grin fell instantly at the reminder of the party. Complete disaster, even if the Shadowhunters hadn't crashed. He secretly thought that was the best part of the night. "First of all – who wouldn't? Watching your ego grow was probably the most entertaining part of that party. I was just waiting for your head to explode from it. Second of all – that's a taboo topic right now. Camille was _not happy with me." He winced at the memory._

"I still don't believe you're straight." Jace crossed his arms while Isabelle rolled her eyes beside him. "I mean, the glitter – could it be any more gay?"

"Could that be any more offensive?" Isabelle asked in a manner of curiosity rather than spitefulness.

"Oh, honey, it definitely could," Magnus assured. "That's all right, I don't mind. And Jace, I just have two words for you."

"Are they 'go away?'" Carstairs asked. "Because I was going to say that to you, seeing as you were going to leave, oh, a conversation ago."

All heads turned to stare at the boy, who shrugged. "Is it a bad thing that I really don't care about his sexual preferences? I'd rather _not know who he's doing. Actually, I think that'd be better for all of us."_

Magnus couldn't pass up the opportunity to make him uncomfortable. Maybe he was a sadist, maybe he had some prejudices of his own, and he knew he only made things worse by arguing with Carstairs. Still, how could he resist? "Oh, you'd want to know her. Trust me – if you ever saw her, you would. And Jace, darling, my two words – I'm bi. Also, I'm saying bye. Get a good rest, Alexander." He pushed Jace aside so he could face the boy more directly.

Alexander blinked sleepily up at him. "I'm not tired, sir."

Magnus shook his head and resisted the urge to ruffle Alexander's already mussed up hair. "Sure, you're not, Blue Eyes. I'll be back, okay?"

Alexander's eyes shut. "Mmk," he mumbled.

He was asleep within minutes.

Mayrse was the first to say farewell. "Thank you for your help," she said stiffly and shook Magnus's hand. With one guilty gaze at Alexander, she fled the room and convinced Max to follow. The cat stalked out right after they did.

Robert sighed and looked at Alexander pityingly. "I'm sorry about her," he said after a moment. "This has hit her very hard, unfortunately."

Magnus absently traced the black runes on Alexander's wrist, just visible underneath the yellow paste. "It's hit everyone involved, I think. She's justified in her coldness, I believe."

Robert nodded awkwardly, one hand stuck in his pocket and the other on Isabelle's shoulder. "D'you know he doesn't like being called Alec?"

Magnus smiled. "He doesn't like being called Blue Eyes, either." He turned his head towards Isabelle. "How are you two doing?"

Isabelle shrugged. "He's insanely innocent. I don't think he understood half of the conversation we just had about Camille. Or any of it, really."

Magnus sighed and withdrew his hand from Alexander as he made a fist. "For a kid that's been through so much, it's sort of unbelievable that he knows _nothing about sex. You __will fix that, right?" He addressed Robert specifically. "As soon as he's fully recovered, you can bet he'll be trying to act as normal as possible. And if he doesn't understand, the next thing you know, you'll have a pregnancy scandal on your hands. I don't want to see that happen to anyone."_

A mischievous grin crossed Jace's face. "We can fix his ignorance easily."

Magnus thought about arguing, but realized that Jace probably _would be able to give the boy a decent Talk. "Do me a favor and don't show him porn. Corruption of innocence can be satisfying, but he doesn't deserve that."_

"He also doesn't deserve to freeze after you knocked him out," Isabelle said and pointed to the pile of clothes beside the bed. "Can you two redress him or something? Seeing my brother in his boxers in only a _little awkward, thanks."_

Robert laughed and hugged Isabelle around the shoulders. "If you remember correctly, you used to see your other brothers in their boxers all the time. Sometimes less."

Isabelle wrinkled her nose. "Yes, but Max was what? Two? Three? Four, at oldest. And Jace – well, _Jace seems to think that being parabatai means no secrets at all. Or at least he used to."_

Jace didn't pale, but he looked as if he'd be stricken. "I got the message, Iz. It was a joke, really."

She glared. "The next time I see that part of you, I'm cutting it off."

Jace shuddered and Magnus had to hold in laughter. "Just don't swear on the Angel, okay?"

Isabelle frowned. "I'll think about it."

"All right, it's late!" Robert announced unnecessarily, simply to interrupt their argument. "Jace, Izzy – bed. Tobias, you ought to get some rest soon, too. And Bane – thank you."

Magnus was so sick of hearing that. "It's not a problem." He couldn't understand why they were thanking him for something that was his _job, for something that he couldn't help wanting to do. Anyone who refused to help Alexander had to be a monster – the boy was helpless, infantile._

Isabelle gave him a quick, bone shattering hug and Jace clapped him on the shoulder once before they both filed out behind Robert.

Carstairs was slumped in his seat. There were purple bags under his eyes and he watched Alexander with uncertainty. "Bane, do you swear you'll do everything you can to save him?" he asked in a low voice.

Magnus touched the yellow covered wrists again. "I will."

"Swear on the Angel," Carstairs demanded.

Magnus brought himself to full height. "I'm not Nephilim. I will swear as I please, and it will not be on someone I'm not sure I believe in."

Magnus walked out the door without another glance. Damn it to hell if he couldn't save that boy, swear or no swear.

* * *

Alexander stared at the object in Tobias's hand. The blonde was shoving it towards him, thrusting it in his face.

"Here," he said. "Take it. It's yours. Or, well, now it is. I got it for you when I was inParis, visiting my niece. I know it's been three days, but I just remembered. Things have been crazy."

Alexander hesitantly reached out to feel the thick, soft cover of the notebook. It was leathery and dark. "What is it?"

"A journal," Tobias said and shrugged. "I thought you might be able to vent in there. It's supposed to be good for getting your emotions out. I know that you can't really talk about a lot of stuff, because, well…" He gestured to Alexander's bandaged wrists. "But I'm sure it'll be a little therapeutic."

Alexander nodded and ran his hand over the smooth clean pages within. "It's beautiful. Thank you, sir." He mustered a small, hesitant smile and looked up at Toby.

"No problem, kid," he responded and mussed up his hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Alexander ducked his head and fixed his hair. "May I get out of bed today?"

Toby laughed and Alexander smiled when he heard him. He hadn't thought his comment was humorous, but Tobias always seemed to find the things he said "endearing." Toby sat down on the bed, near Alexander's feet, and pulled a vial out of his pocket. "Maybe. You know how your mother is."

Alexander cringed. It's not that he wasn't grateful for his mother's constant care. It was just that – constant. Alexander was unused to being hovered over and cared upon. Maryse wasn't the warmest woman and her presence always made Alexander nervous. He took the vial from Tobias and downed the disgusting potion. His lips and throat, which were beginning to feel dry, instantly moistened.

"Thank you, sir."

Tobias shrugged. "That's my job. Bane would kill me if I forgot your potions. You ready for more No Itch cream?"

Alexander sighed and unwrapped his own wrists. The cream was putrid smelling and slimy, but it was the only thing that alleviated the painful itchiness of his skin. The rash, already spread to his entire body, only got worse by the day. The few glimpses into the mirror he'd caught in the last few days had been comical – he was splotchy red and yellow all over.

"This stuff is disgusting. I can't wait for this symptom to be gone," he complained, but dipped his fingers in the jar to spread it over his cheek. He tried not to gag on the smell.

Toby pulled back the bedcovers. Hold on," he said and took the jar away. "Let's get you walking a bit. You can use the bathroom and a mirror to do that."

Alexander wiped the rest of the cream on his hand onto his arm. "Thank you, sir," he murmured while Tobias helped him slide out of the bed. The pajamas that Isabelle and Mayrse had bought for him were far too large – too long in the sleeves, and far too baggy. They kept slipping off his bony shoulder, though he had gained several pounds since the vomiting was stopped.

His legs were wobbly, unaccustomed to much movement. They quickly made their way to the bathroom, by which time Alexander had regained his balance. He splashed his face a few times with cold water and watched the goop disappear down the drain.

Cautiously, he poked the rash. It was still peeling, but not as badly as the day before. "Do you think it's getting better, sir?"

Tobias had sat down on the closed toilet and was watching him carefully. He frowned imperceptibly. "Not really."

Alexander sighed and covered his face with the yellow. "I guess not." He sent Tobias an embarrassed glance, but unbuttoned his top anyway to reach the rash on his chest. He ran his finger over his ribs as he spread the cream. Tobias looked away as he usually did. "Why do you do that, sir?"

Tobias had his eyes trained on the floor. "Do what?"

"Look away. You don't have to, sir. It's okay. It doesn't look so bad anymore." Alexander knew that Tobias hated seeing him so injured. The bruises were mostly faded, though scars remained. He traced the letters on his arm fondly before he covered it up with the cream.

Tobias wrung his hands. "It's… Alexander, it's out of respect."

Alexander snorted, unable to help himself. "I don't think I've ever heard of that before, sir. At least not referring to _me."_

"Exactly." Tobias sighed. "Look, I know that you're not used to it, but after all the things you've been through, I can't – I don't – I don't want you to feel like a – a – I don't know, Alexander, it's just… I feel like I shouldn't."

Alexander slipped the shirt off completely and attempted to stretch to reach his back. "Sir? Can you –"

"Sure." Tobias took the cream already in his palm, his fingers warm against Alexander's, and smeared it over the itchy spots. Alexander watched him in the mirror – he still kept his head down.

"Magnus doesn't look away," he said after a moment.

Tobias's lips thinned. "I don't think that thing has respect for anyone, especially not someone like you."

Alexander frowned but tried not to move as the boy progressed down his back. "Magnus is always very nice."

Tobias rolled his eyes. "He's attracted to you, obviously. Of course he's nice, he wants you in his bed. He's several centuries old, I'm sure he's at least figured _that much out."_

Alexander blinked. "Attracted?"

A small smile, miniscule, really, quirked the ends of Tobias's lips. "Yes, attracted. Haven't you heard of that before?"

Alexander ran his finger on the counter, through a drop of water on the granite. It broke apart into two. "I – what makes a person attracted to another, sir?"

Tobias sighed and grabbed Alexander's shirt. "Well," he said pensively. "It really depends." Alexander slid his arms through the sleeves and buttoned himself up. Tobias took his seat again. "Attractiveness has something to do with it. But there are other things. And – oh, by the Angel, I'm about to give you the Talk, aren't I?"

"Sounds like it. Can I watch? This should be fun."

Alexander redirected his gaze to the bathroom door. Jace grinned cockily and leaned on the doorframe.

"Hello, sir," he murmured in greeting.

Jace smiled and walked in, only pausing to mess up his hair. "Hey, kid." He sat himself at the edge of the bathtub. "Mayrse sent me to check on you two." He punched Tobias in the arm lightly in camaraderie. They had formed a surprisingly close bond in the last few days.

Alexander nodded. "I'm doing well, sir." His knee throbbed and he remembered that he had a whole second half to cover in paste. With a sigh, he loosened his pajamas pants just a little, which caused them to fall to his ankles instantly.

He could feel Jace's gaze acutely, but continued covering the rash.

"Is your knee still hurting?" he asked after a quiet silence.

Alexander glanced at him and shrugged. "Just a bit, sir. My walking stick helps. And rest helps, too." He fidgeted in his place. "I'd like to do something, though. I haven't had a break from work since I was young. It's… odd."

Jace nodded. "I know what you mean. When I came here, I had a full three days where I didn't train. It was the first vacation I had since I was four or five. I still get restless if I don't."

Alexander smiled at him. "Yes, that's what it is, I think. Restless." He paused. "How is Clary?" The redhead had visited two days prior, but simply stood in the corner and kept her mouth shut. Isabelle and Simon, her friend, had joked that Alexander was the only one that could keep her silent.

"She's okay," Jace said. "Her mom – Valentine's wife –"

"Jocelyn," Alexander murmured from memory.

Jace nodded. "Yeah. She's in a sort of comatose state. So she's just worried. But we've been talking about Jocelyn, actually. Because she's a Morgenstern, through marriage. We _think it'll count, and maybe she can lift the orders. I know Clary can't, because she's under eighteen, but maybe Jocelyn would be able to."_

Alexander fixed his pants and rewrapped his wrists in new gauze. The runes were still black as his hair, and the bruises were a brown yellow. He slid to the tile floor and leaned his head against the cabinet. "Perhaps," he said but he wasn't going to be too hopeful. "What is the Talk?"

Jace placed a hand on Tobias's shoulder. "Toby, do you think it's time? Do you think he's ready?" Alexander could hear the obviously playful tone in his words, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness.

Tobias took Jace's hand and gazed at Alexander thoughtfully. "I think so."

Jace ripped his hand away and laid both fists over his heart. "Oh! He's growing up so fast, Toby! I can't stand this! He's maturing before our eyes!"

Alexander laughed at his dramatics. "Jace, sir, please, just tell me what it is!"

The boys seemed to be enjoying themselves, though, and ignored his request. "Oh, I don't know Jace," Tobias said mournfully and shook his head. "Son enough, he'll be dating –"

"And driving –"

"And speaking back to us –"

"And marrying and giving us little nieces and nephews!" Jace exclaimed. He observed Alexander for a few moments. "Do you remember that girl in Taki's yesterday, when we went to pick up dinner? Do you think she's his type?"

Tobias also regarded Alexander carefully. "The blonde? I don't think so."

"Hm. You're right," Jace agreed. He clapped his hands together. "So! The Talk! You ready to find out the essentials of life, Alexander?"

Alexander rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir, I am."

Tobias slid to the floor to join him. "All right, then. Now, listen carefully, okay? When a mommy Shadowhunter and a daddy Shadowhunter love each other very much –"

"Hold on!" Jace held up his hands. "You are not giving him the five year old version. He's eighteen, for the Angel's sake. Listen to _me, okay?" Alexander nodded, but it wouldn't have made a difference. Jace kept talking. "So, you see a girl that's really hot, right? And you two are probably going to wind up doing stuff – trust me, I know – and you need to be prepared for what it is. So first…"_

Jace and Tobias took turns talking until Alexander was bright red without the help of the rash. Isabelle came to fetch them for dinner, only to find the three boys laughing on the bathroom floor, Alexander's hands clapped over his ears in a position of defiance.

She slipped away before they noticed her. They could eat later. He was healing.

* * *

End Note: Yay! End of chapter! A happy end! Hope you liked it! Please review! I'm sort of in a rush, so thanks so much for reading! next chapter ASAP 3 Thanks again for sticking by after this long, long update space.


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